


Adjustment

by Azure_Lynx



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Coffee, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Lots and lots of Pining, M/M, Marcos' Past comes back to Haunt Him, Multi, Nightmares, Pining, Polyamory, Road Trips, Season Two Foreshadowing, Sharing a Bed, Snuggling, Some Good Sarcastic Advice, Tags will be updated as more chapters are posted, These people need some quality time, all the family feels, i love them, ish?, post-season one, pre-polyamory, quesadillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_Lynx/pseuds/Azure_Lynx
Summary: Lorna's gone. Andy's gone.There's a sense of companionship that comes from such loneliness and loss, and Marcos finds himself spending a lot of time with the Struckers to cope. But that presents its own set of challenges.He has feelings, sure, but he doesn't know if he's allowed to or supposed to or if he even has a chance. Add onto that the appearance of a small mutant child and the fact his past debts are still being collected, and coping with the new life they've got. It's a lot to adjust to.Set in between Seasons One and Two, a (theoretically) canon-compliant bridge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcos and Caitlin solve a little bit of their loneliness together.

Sleeping alone was one of the hardest things to adjust to in the new Underground.

Sure, he’d done it before, when one or both of them were out on missions. But he had always known there would be something to come back to. A return to normalcy. 

Now he didn’t know if Lorna was ever coming back. He wasn’t even sure he wanted her to, if he was completely honest with himself, though his heart pained at the thought of losing her forever - and losing his unborn child. What she had done was the deepest breach of morality, but was that enough? Did he want it to be enough? In a way, it was his own fault; he could have convinced her to stay. Somehow.

And then there were the Struckers. 

Marcos had always considered himself monogamous, eschewing the stereotype that bisexuals could never pick just one person. But damn if sometimes he didn’t want in on what they had. And were he and Lorna even still together? Did it matter how he felt about that? The best he could describe it was an “extreme moral difference-inspired break.”

It was the kind of thing he’d usually ask Caitlin about - since her arrival, she’d proven an excellent friend and good at the emotional advice that everyone else was typically too survival-mode to give. But this was his problem, and he didn’t want to burden her or make her uncomfortable. He didn’t even know where he’d start - “I don’t know what my relationship is? I think I’m in love with you and your husband? Would it even be ethical for me to pursue another relationship right now?” None seemed like particularly decent questions to start.

A comforting hand gently caressed his shoulders. “It’s an adjustment,” Caitlin told him. He hadn’t even heard her approach, though it was her room and he had no good explanation for why he was there. “We’ll get used to it.”

Somehow, she always knew just what he was thinking. 

He noticed the downward curve of her mouth, the tremor in her voice, and reached up to squeeze her hand. “He’ll come back,” he said, the empty, baseless promise heavy in the air. She almost smiled before sitting down heavily beside him on the mattress. 

Her descent left no room between them, legs pressed against each other and her head on their hands on his shoulder. The weeks since The Severance (as Lauren Strucker mirthlessly called it) had broken down whatever barriers had existed between them, and between him and Reed, and even with Lauren. In some ways, it felt like he was a Strucker already. 

Almost. 

“I miss him,” she said, after a long period of silence. Marcos wasn’t sure if she meant Andy or Reed, but if he had to guess, he’d say both. 

The Reed problem was fixable. He’d be back the next day. But Andy...Marcos could say he’d come back, but they didn’t know for sure. And they didn’t know if he’d come back alive. 

Every time they heard news of attacks by the Hellfire Club, they all sat around holding hands and waiting to hear about mutant deaths, a little circle of anxiety and pain. The last time, there had been news footage of Lorna with her hand on Andy’s back, walking away from a conference center they’d destroyed. Eighty-five dead, three hundred wounded, and the numbers still climbing. 

Back at the headquarters, the family had shared guilt-ridden relief. Their loved ones were still alive. 

Unlike the nearly hundred they’d just killed. 

And then Marcos, alone in his private shame, thought about how he’d failed, failed to convince the woman who he used to think was the love of his life that murdering innocents was wrong, failed to keep Andy Strucker and Sage and everyone from changing sides, failed to keep their whole damn world from falling apart.

“I miss them too.” He took his hand off hers and brushed some hair from her face. The casual intimacy was the only thing that kept him from collapsing in utter loneliness these days. “It’s an adjustment.” 

The noise she made in the back of her throat was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, in spite of the fact she’d said it first. He slipped his arm around her waist without even thinking, pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head. 

She stiffened for a brief moment in his arms. It was the first time he’d done it. But just as quickly, she relaxed back into him, and he thought he saw a genuine smile flicker across her lips. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. “You know, if that doctor could see you now, he’d never think you could hurt me.” She laughed lightly, but there was pain in her voice. The injustice hurt her soul, he knew, just as much as it hurt his. 

“Maybe,” he told her, letting her hold onto the hope. Letting himself hold it too. When she’d told him what the doctor said, it’d cut his soul - he’d barely known her, but already he had wanted to keep her safe, even if he wasn’t quite sold on her. And now…now he’d stop the whole world spinning just to make her happy.

Caitlin yawned. With a start, Marcos realized how late it was. Lauren was already tucked in and asleep on a cot on the other side of the room, an empty cot beside her as a stark reminder of the missing Strucker child. Even the double mattress where he sat with Caitlin - one of two scored for the new hideout, distributed to the Struckers and to Clarice and John - seemed empty with the indication of Reed’s absence.

God, Marcos missed that man. 

“I should let you sleep,” he said, standing up to head somewhere - the patio or his room, he wasn’t sure. 

She grabbed his arm, so quickly Marcos wasn’t sure she’d even thought about it. “Please. Stay the night.” Her face was raw and vulnerable, showing more than a little surprise she’d actually said that, and it struck him right in the heart.

It was a heavy request. This was farther than they’d ever gone; the three of them had been playing a complicated game since The Severance, mostly just lingering looks and embraces and elevated honesty. But Marcos knew enough to know Reed would probably be alright with it. So long as he kept things casual.

“I don’t own pajamas,” he said carefully. It was not something he’d managed to regain since their last hideout was vaporized. And since his blood was more or less light, he had little reason to make it a priority.

“Just...take a pair of Reed’s pants. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Caitlin shrugged, the edge of desperation creeping into her voice. Marcos had been sleeping alone for weeks longer than she had - he knew what she was feeling.

He nodded once. “Alright.”

He rifled through their small box of things. Nearly nothing remained from their old lives. Nothing to remember the past. Nothing to make this place feel like a home. 

Suddenly, he was struck by the urge to do something about it - next time they made a supply run, he'd find something nice for them. Maybe a bright scarf for Caitlin - she'd look lovely in blue - and a book for Lauren and...he wasn't quite sure what he'd get for Reed, but he'd figure something out. 

And a sketchbook for Andy when he returned. 

Marcos took a pair of red pajama pants from the box. He remembered nabbing them last time they were out, from boxes left unattended behind a clothing store. They had found a good home, and now he would be the one wearing them. 

He disrobed, putting his clothes in a pile beside the box, and pulled on the pajama pants. 

Turning back, he caught Caitlin studying him curiously. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him naked - she was their de facto doctor and all - but this was different. This wasn’t professional scrutiny. It felt almost like love. 

But that was impossible. She was a happily married human woman. Just because they were both lonely didn't mean anything like that would happen, and Marcos shouldn't even think about it, and Reed would probably be pretty annoyed. He liked what he had with them. He didn't want to ruin it by wanting too much. 

With that in mind, he wondered if maybe he should have put on a shirt, for propriety’s sake. But when he was emotional - like he always was these days, stressing about the resistance and about Lorna and their baby and Andy and everyone they had lost and how he should have tried harder to get her to stay, to change her mind, to not cross the line - his body temperature ran hot, and a shirt would only make it impossible to sleep, even in the winter. 

It would be fine. He was an adult. He could handle a couple feelings. He flashed back to the amount of times he’d had crushes on some of his painfully straight friends, way back in his school days. The number was double digits and mildly embarrassing, but at least he was well-prepared. 

Or at least he thought so until Caitlin brushed past him and traded places by the sad little box that held their belongings. Her fingers trailed down his sides, so soft and wonderful it made him worry he was actually glowing. He sat down heavily on the mattress, almost dizzy.

He didn't turn away as she changed into her nighttime attire - a t-shirt three sizes too big that had definitely been scavenged from a dumpster (though washed religiously) that functioned as a nightgown. She was beautiful, and Marcos admired the weathering of skin on her back, the way her shoulder blades made the lines and freckles seem to dance as she pulled the shirt over her head. 

“No pants?” he asked, more out of curiosity than desire for her to wear them. “It's winter.”

“There's only one set. Reed takes the pants,” she gestured to his legs, “and I take the top. It's as good as it gets.”

The whole Underground was struggling. With the increase in mutant violence, people were less willing to risk the association. Some people outright refused to help the Underground because Lorna, now a known terrorist, used to be one of them. There wasn't enough food or water, and apparently there weren't enough clothes, either. It made him feel powerless. 

He should never have let it get this far. 

His heart clenched painfully, both at memory of Lorna and at their current situation. The Underground was his whole life. This was not how he had thought things would be, just a few short months ago.

“I've got a blanket,” Caitlin reassured him, patting his knee and startling from his reverie. “I'll be ok.” 

He shrugged. “If you say so.” 

They shuffled around and lay down in the bed. Caitlin liked sleeping near the wall - she told him it made her feel safer - and Marcos settled into her husband’s spot, trying not to feel like an invader. He turned off the light with a _click_ and tried to get comfortable, leaving a respectful space between the two of them. He was not gonna fuck this up. 

They lay there separately in silence for a few minutes before Caitlin started to shiver. She pushed herself a little closer to Marcos, clearly enjoying a bit of his warmth. 

“You radiate,” she whispered, tired awe in her voice.

Just like that, his resolve crumbled. “Come here,” he murmured, dragging her over to him. She rested her head on his bare chest and practically purred, tangling herself around him. 

“You're like a lamp,” she decided, voice thick with sleep. “You're warm and you light up.”

“I'm very useful,” he laughed lightly. His hand was resting on the small of her back and his heart was right there with it, beating a million miles a minute and ready to explode. He hadn’t felt this happy in months, since before the Frosts and Trask and everything had gone to shit. 

But that wasn’t important. What was important was this moment - past forgotten, future be damned. He’d deal with any consequence just to feel this way some more.

He buried his face in her hair. “Sweet dreams, Cait.” She was already asleep, so it didn’t matter what he said next. It was as close as he could get to telling her everything he was feeling. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry my - Lorna took Andy. I’m sorry I can’t be what I should be.” He tangled his fingers through her hair, petting softly. “And...I’m sorry, but I think I might be falling in love with you.” 

It was that thought that stayed with him until sleep, accompanied by the sound of her peaceful breathing. God, he was in deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my The Gifted fandom debut, plying you all with rare ships. This was originally gonna be a short one-shot but it completely spiraled out of control, so I hope y'all enjoy this juicy multichap you'll be getting instead.  
> I really love his relationship with the Struckers and I wanted to explore that. Plus, who doesn't love a little bed-sharing trope? So here's some Valentine's Day cuteness for you all.  
> As always, I'd love to know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, coffee, and a little bit of friendly advice.

_They were gone. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find them - John and Clarice and everyone else just looked at him like he was crazy when he asked where they were._

_“Who the hell are the Struckers?”_

_It was like they had never even been in the Mutant Underground. Only when he checked the newsfeeds, he heard stories of a green-haired woman wielding a pair of mutant siblings as weapons of mass destruction._

_His heart turned to ice._

_He should go after them. He should do something. This was his fault - he didn’t know why or how, but they were supposed to be here, and the fact that they weren’t was because of him._

_Somehow._

He woke up with their names on his tongue; for the first time he wasn’t screaming for Lorna, but for Caitlin and Reed and Lauren and Andy. 

And for the first time he wasn’t alone when he awoke. There was a pressure on his chest and his arm was asleep and then a pillow hit him in the face. 

“Shush, I’m right here,” Caitlin groaned. She reached out to stroke his face tenderly, and as her hand brushed stubble, she seemed to realize what she’d done. “Oh, my God, Marcos, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I thought you were Reed!” She sat bolt upright, pulling the pillow into her chest. “I would never hit you - I thought I’d wake him - I -”

He laughed, filled with relief. She was right there in front of him, real as day. “You’d hit your husband with a pillow that hard?”

“We’ve been married twenty years and he sleeps like a corpse,” she quipped. “He usually forgives me.” 

Dear God, that was what their relationship was like? His heart swelled painfully with how desperately he wanted to be a part of that. He would wake up to a pillow in his face every morning if it meant waking up with them.

Her face softened. “Are you alright? You were tossing a lot and I think you mumbled my name. Can I get you something?”

“Do we have coffee?” He pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes to banish the horrors. She was still so close; when he breathed in, he smelled her, and she smelled like sweat and dirt and the closest thing he had to home these days. 

“It's only four a.m.…” she trailed off uncertainly. “But I'm sure we have some somewhere.”

“I'm not going back to sleep.” He shook his head and shivered. “Don't let me keep you. I'll find it myself.” 

She seemed unconvinced, but he gently pushed on her shoulders to get her to lie down again. It was a trick he'd used to use with Lorna. Worked every time. 

His heart clenched at the thought of her and their child. Out there somewhere. Without him. Caitlin must have seen the pain in his face, because before he knew it, he was falling down on top of her, trapped in an awkward crushing hug. 

“You're okay,” she whispered, and her voice held such conviction that he almost believed her.

He pushed himself up off of her. “I'll be back,” he promised before he even thought about what he was saying. But the smile she gave him, already close to sleep again, was enough to convince him to follow through.

He walked quietly over to their makeshift kitchen and rifled through a couple of boxes. God, he would kill to have actual cabinets again. Anything but these fucking boxes. 

There was one can of instant coffee with enough grounds for maybe a cup. Marcos almost just left the whole damn thing for someone else - he didn't need it that badly - when a voice from the doorway caught his attention.

“I see we had the same idea.” Clarice leaned casually against the doorframe, wearing one of John’s jackets that nearly swallowed her whole. Marcos knew how warm it must be. “Enough for two?”

He shook his head. “You have it.” He held the can out invitingly, but she pushed it back towards him. 

“Split it in two,” she said. “I shouldn't be drinking much caffeine this early, anyway.” She made her way inside and sat down on top of the folding table, crossing her legs. 

Marcos shrugged, but on the inside he was quite relieved. “Can't sleep?” he asked, grabbing two mugs. 

She shook her head. “Too much thinking.”

He made a rueful sound. “You and me both.” She looked at him sympathetically while he filled the mugs with water. Concentrating a small beam of light, he used his palms to bring the water to a boil.

“Well, that's useful,” Clarice said dryly. “You would make an excellent house-husband.”

Marcos laughed, equal parts amused and bitter. “Yeah, well, my girlfriend and unborn child are currently MIA, so I'm just practicing my skills til she realizes she misses my coffee and life as ‘Not a Terrorist.’” He handed her the steaming mug, which had cooled slightly, and the spoon which held the coffee grounds.

“There's always the Struckers,” she replied without looking at him, slowly swirling her spoon around the mug. Marcos was glad, because if she had looked up, she'd have seen the telltale light flooding his veins and coloring his cheeks.

He turned away, placing his mug on the counter. “What do you mean?” he asked, fighting to keep his tone even, as he stirred in the coffee grounds. 

“Please. Reed Strucker checks out your ass ridiculous amounts considering this is a shared living space. And Caitlin looks at you like you're the sun - which is sorta right, I guess? - and you two are constantly all over each other. You're worse than John and me.” He could practically hear Clarice smirking into her coffee at the accusation. 

He whirled back to face her, eyebrows raised. “You grabbed his ass during a strategy meeting,” Marcos shot back, taking a gulp of his hot coffee. “There's no way we're worse than you.”

“I maintain that was purely accidental.” She snorted. “I _may_ have gone a little crazy off sexual tension the first week. Sue me. There was a whole lot of confusion before that.” She tossed her head slightly to push back her curls, keeping her hands wrapped around the mug. 

“Yeah, I seem to remember a lot of lingering looks of your own, right up until the part where you kissed right before a vital mission.” He smirked. “‘Confusion.’ I'd say you two were just about the only ones who didn’t realize you were interested.”

“That op was fucked from the start.” He appreciated that they could find some dark humor in the subject. “John was the only good thing I got out of it. But you've yet to get yours.” The way she smiled at him was delightful - it made him feel loved and attacked all at once. “Maybe you should try being a little bolder. Search party comes back today and all.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, swallowing more coffee. “I'm glad you found us, Clarice,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. He didn't want to think about Reed until Reed was right in front of him.

“Me too.” She pulled the jacket a little tighter around herself. “I found something to believe in. And I found a family.” 

They finished their coffee in comfortable silence and dropped the dishes in the sink. 

“Well, time to lay down next to John for a few more hours until the sun or a problem drags me out of bed,” Clarice declared, making Marcos laugh again. Before he could go, she grabbed his hand. “You deserve to be happy, Marcos. None of this is your fault.” She dropped it just as abruptly. “Just...don't hold back, alright?”

“When have I ever?” he joked, but it felt a little forced. 

He clapped her shoulder and they went separate ways, but not before she called out, “Your room is this way, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartass,” he grumbled. Still, he couldn't help but smile.

He pushed open the door to the Struckers’ room. Lauren looked like an angel as she slept, all softness and serenity. Light from the moon came through the window near the ceiling and filtered across her face, playing up her innocence. She was an adult now, but she was still a teenager, and she had the quality of someone who’d just begun. The war hadn’t broken her yet, thank God.

He would do everything he could to keep it that way. 

Quietly, he made his way around to Caitlin, who had already passed out again, and settled in beside her. He didn’t necessarily expect to get more sleep, but Clarice had the right idea. A warm body to hold was worth two hours of staring a the ceiling. 

As if she sensed his return, Caitlin rolled over towards him, arms flailing out a little until they made contact with his bare skin. _God, the sensation drove him crazy._ She curled into him again, resting her head on his chest and tangling her legs in his. 

This was bliss, and he was more than happy to lie there awake for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is up! I really love the Marcos & Clarice friendship, and I hope season two explores it. They're both pretty sarcastic and have similar senses of humor, but there's a lot of deep care and genuine emotion there. Plus, he's a stubborn idiot who needs someone to point him in the right direction sometimes. (I Love My Son)  
> Super sweet and I'm excited to share it with you! Can't wait to hear what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

The convoy was back. Marcos could tell because everyone seemed excited and hopeful for the first time in days. Caitlin was practically vibrating out of her skin, waiting to see Reed. And she looked how Marcos felt. 

It was silly. This was her treat, not his. He was just…there sometimes. 

Reed limped into the room, looking tired and a little worse for wear, and Marcos thought his heart might explode. Caitlin was upon Reed in seconds, holding him close and kissing him, while Lauren looked both amused and relieved as she went to hug him too.

“What happened to your leg?” she asked, concerned.

Reed shrugged. “Just a fall. No big deal.” He separated from Caitlin and looked over to Marcos.

“It's good to have you back, man,” Marcos said, a little unsure of himself. In response, Reed clasped his hand and pulled him in for a lingering embrace. 

“It's good to be home,” Reed replied after he pulled away. He gave Marcos a tired smile. 

Marcos was more unsettled than before. Reed was not an affectionate person, usually. Had something happened? Was everything alright?

“Did you get anything?” He asked, coughing to clear his throat.

Reed nodded. “We lucked out on the pickup, but then Sentinel Services showed up and we had to make a quick getaway. Picked up one refugee and plenty of food and clothes.” Only then did Marcos notice the small girl hovering behind Reed. 

His heart stopped. Her hair was such a familiar shade of green and her skin was close to his. That was where the resemblance stopped, but she could've been his and Lorna's kid, if anyone looked quickly. 

“Hey there,” he greeted, trying to sound friendly and nonthreatening. “My name’s Marcos Diaz. Who are you?”

She looked at Reed quickly for guidance. He nodded once, and she looked back to Marcos. “My name is Ramona,” she said hesitantly. “Ramona Alvarez Garcia.” Her voice was heavily accented and very hesitant, and Marcos would guess that she wasn’t very fluent in English. 

“Welcome to the Underground, Ramona. We're very happy to have you here.” He reached out his hand and she took it and shook it very somberly. She looked maybe ten, eleven years old. So young to have a visible mutation. Far too young to be alone. 

Reed pushed Ramona over towards Caitlin, who put her arm around the small kid. “Her parents didn't make it. They held off Sentinel Services while we escaped with her. It sounds like she's an undocumented kid, and Sentinel Services didn't see her, so she should be safe,” he whispered to Marcos. “I think we should keep her here for awhile.”

An undocumented Latina kid out on her own, also known as the surest way to Marcos’ heart. He thought back to his own days of running, making his way up along the coast until he finally crossed the border to the States. Those were not days he missed.

But the US wasn't so sweet as his mother always dreamed, it turned out. 

“Of course,” Marcos agreed. “If there are no available cots, she could use my bed.”

“We've got one in our room,” Reed replied. “We were saving it in case...Andy...but it's fine.” He shook his head. “Besides, I don't think she really wants to leave my side. She's quite taken with me.” Reed looked equally taken with her, gazing at the young girl and his wife.

If there was anyone in the world who truly, genuinely loved being a father, it was Reed Strucker. Marcos found that endlessly attractive.

“Just wait til I speak Spanish with her,” Marcos teased. “I bet I'll be her favorite, then.”

Reed pushed his shoulder affectionately and again Marcos wondered just what had happened out there. “I speak a bit of Spanish.”

Marcos laughed. “High school twenty-five years ago doesn't count.” 

“I also picked up some curses from you,” Reed protested jokingly. He shook his head, yawning. “I'm sure she’ll love you. Ramona needs all the family she can get right now.”

Family. The best part of the Underground. Revolution was secondary to solidarity, especially these days. 

Taking a risk, Marcos pulled Reed in for another hug. “I'm real glad you're back safe,” he mumbled, patting Reed on the back. 

They lingered until Reed’s entire body shook with another yawn. “I need to sleep,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, Marcos. But we can catch up after.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Marcos nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. The last thing he wanted was to let Reed out of his sight, but that was ridiculous. He could let the man sleep. 

He watched Reed walk away, watched the loving way he clasped Caitlin’s hand and ruffled Ramona’s hair as they walked past each other. Again, he felt that aching to be a part of it all.

“Hi, Marcos!” Caitlin said, her voice both exhausted and sing-song. “Can Ramona come play with you?”

“Of course!” He wanted to make her feel welcome until they could find her a nice, permanent home. 

Caitlin pushed her over towards him and Marcos held out his hand, which Ramona clasped tightly. _“Thank you,”_ Caitlin mouthed at him, then whispered. He nodded his reply, and she turned back towards the room Reed had disappeared into.

He turned his attention down to Ramona. “So what would you like to do?” he asked.

She shrugged, wandering over to a worn beanbag chair and plopping down. “You look...like my Papi,” she told him gloomily, wrapping her arms around herself. “I miss him.”

He sighed. “I know, love,” he told her in Spanish, delighting as her eyes widened. “I’m sorry.”

Immediately, she began babbling to him in her native tongue, telling him all about her family and how great they were and how they’d ended up in the States. Her powers - accelerated healing - had shown up as they were trying to cross the border, after she’d taken a bad tumble.

She had an Aunt in Savannah, somewhere, and her family had been trying to get over to find her when they were confronted by Sentinel Services. Ramona called them some very nasty words he was surprised a kid her age even knew, and Marcos laughed.

Growing quieter, Ramona confessed she’d watched her parents die from the back window of the van. Marcos pulled her into a hug, not knowing what else to do, as she wrapped her fists in his shirt and began to sob. 

It used to be that they’d have Sonya take care of things like this. A little bit of magic clouds, and the trauma was gone. But Dreamer was just another missing face around the headquarters these days, equally mourned with everyone else.

All he could do was hold her while she cried, petting her back and making soothing noises. Eventually, she calmed down enough to apologize, but Marcos waved it off. 

“It’s good to feel things,” he told her. “Means we’re still us on the inside.” He ran his fingers absently through her hair. “How about I braid this for you?” he offered, using a trick he picked up from Lorna. She always used to say the only way she knew how to comfort people was to play with their hair ‘til they passed out. The thought was bittersweet.

Ramona nodded, sitting up straight in his lap. Her emerald-green hair swept past her shoulder blades, soft and shiny and impossibly thick. Marcos set about pulling and dividing and twisting as best he could, feeling the tension release from her body. 

This must be what fatherhood felt like. He liked it a lot, but it made him miss Lorna and the baby all the more. 

She would be showing now. She’d been so close to a bump last time Marcos had seen her, but life on the run kept you slim and malnourished. He wondered what would happen when their baby was born: would she keep it, try to raise it with the rest of the Hellfire Club, or would she realize it was safer for a child in the Underground headquarters?

It occurred to Marcos that he had _no idea_ how to care for an infant. But somehow that didn’t concern him much. Caitlin and Reed had done it twice, and he was absolutely certain they’d help him if he asked.

And maybe even if he didn’t, honestly.

“You’re a natural.” 

The English startled Marcos, whose brain had been functioning entirely in Spanish until that point, and it took him a second to gather himself. “A natural?” he asked finally, staring up at Reed.

“A natural father.” Reed sat down heavily on the couch across from them. “Look at you. I used to do the same thing for Lauren when she was little and worried about something.”

The praise made Marcos glow, slightly, and he wrapped his hands in Ramona’s hair so no one could tell. “Thanks, man.” He cracked a smile. “It means a lot, coming from you.” If Marcos could model his parenting off of anyone, it’d be Reed Strucker.

“What’s he saying?” Ramona whispered, peering at Reed. “He talks too fast.”

“He says I’m good at taking care of you,” Marcos replied, translating the sentiment without giving her the private emotion. “Like a father.”

“Are you a father?” she asked, turning to blink at him owlishly. “He is, right?”

“Me? Not yet. But the blonde girl, Lauren, is his daughter.” Marcos pointed with one hand, finishing off the bottom of the braid. “Hair tie?”

She pulled one of several multi-colored elastics off her wrist. “He likes you,” she said without prompting. “He looks at you like he looks at her.” Somehow Marcos knew she didn’t mean Lauren, but Caitlin. 

Reed looked very confused and Marcos laughed. The man knew he was being discussed, but he didn’t know what was being said. Good for Ramona to turn the tables. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, little one,” Marcos told her, but he hoped she was right. “Stay awhile and you’ll see.”

“I’m not an _idiot_ ,” she replied sulkily. “I’m eleven!” 

Reed cut in. “What is going on?” he asked. 

“She says she’s eleven and that means she knows everything.” Marcos made sure to speak slowly enough so Ramona would understand him, too. He knew he was successful when she stuck her tongue out at him and blew a raspberry.

“Just like a dad,” Reed laughed. “Already dealing with the preteen years.”

Marcos laughed again, patting Ramona’s head. She leaned back into him, snuggling up, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Poor kid had really been through a lot. Best to let her rest.

“You ever think about having more?” Marcos asked, looking back at Reed. Sometimes he imagined an even bigger family with them, his little one and the two Strucker kids, maybe more, and Lorna was there too, just one big happy family where he got to kiss everyone he so desperately wanted to kiss. 

Reed leaned in. “All the time,” he admitted quietly. “But Cait couldn't - at her age, and on the run…” He trailed off wistfully. “I don't bring it up.”

“Well, this might be your chance.” Marcos gestured to the sleeping girl in his lap. It wasn't what he'd dreamed of, or likely what Reed had either, but it was reality. 

Reed nodded slowly, sinking back into his seat. “Our chance.”

“What?”

“She needs you, Marcos.” Reed leaned back in and grabbed his hand. “You're her connection to the rest of us. And we need you if we're gonna help her.”

Marcos nodded. _We need you._ The words made him happy, hopeful. Maybe there was something there. 

“She's got an Aunt,” he said. “In Savannah.”

Reed nodded. “We’ll find her.” His voice sounded almost disappointed, but that was a question for another time. “You should move her to Andy’s cot. Let her sleep.” 

“Good plan.” Carefully, Marcos stood, lifting the girl with him, and walked her over to the Strucker’s room. She was so light and he wanted to protect her more than anything. One look at Reed’s face told him the feeling was shared.

As they settled her into the cot, Reed sat heavily on his own mattress and sighed. “It's good to be home.”

Marcos couldn't agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have a long one.  
> I'm not sure where the Ramona subplot came from, exactly, but I do know that I love her now. I wanted a chance for some good domestic Marcos/Reed feels, aka fantastic dads. I'm very excited for this arc and all that is guaranteed to come with it. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.  
> I love to know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a stab at the mystery and some more domestic family feels.

“She doesn’t know her aunt’s name?” John asked incredulously, not for the first time.

Marcos rubbed his hands across his face. Their incredibly limited information had turned up a predictable amount of results: preposterously many and nothing conclusive.

“She calls her Tía Rosita, but she says that’s just what her Papá called his little sister. It’s a nickname,” he repeated. “She thinks. We may as well just comb the system for anyone named Rosita Alvarez, Rosa, Rose, Rosie, Rosaline…” He groaned. “God, we may never find this woman.”

Caitlin leaned back against the table. “How hard can it be? It’s just Savannah.”

“And the surrounding area,” Marcos replied. “And there’s no guarantee her name is even similar to Rosita.” 

“Not to mention she hasn't seen her in years and can't really tell us what she looks like.” John groaned. 

Caitlin shrugged. “We could always keep her here,” she suggested almost hopefully. “As long as necessary.”

“If there's family to be reunited, that's what we do,” John rebutted. “It's not safe here for a kid.” 

“We don't really have any other options, though.” If pressed, Marcos would admit he agreed with Caitlin, but it was selfish of him and he knew it. “For now, let's get digging.”

Clarice groaned, turning back to the computer screens. “This would go so much faster if we still had Sage.” 

They held a moment of silence for the ones who'd left them. Marcos again was pierced with guilt - they'd only been following Lorna. Whom he had failed to keep around. 

Reed knocked on the door, carrying a tired-looking Ramona. “She says she remembers something.” He’d volunteered for babysitting duty and had been keeping her entertained while the rest of them went about their work.

Ramona nodded solemnly, arms wrapped around Reed’s neck. “I remember,” she said slowly, carefully, choosing the right English words so everyone would understand. “She said - her job - she argues. With men who look...like him.” She patted Reed’s face. “But he is nice.”

“She argues with white men for a living?” Marcos raised his eyebrow.

Clarice laughed. “That’s either my dream job, or it was my daily nightmare.”

John started to pace, thinking. “So she could be a lawyer, or a politician. Maybe a cop?”

Marcos translated John’s ideas one by one for Ramona, but each time she merely shrugged and apologized. “I was young,” she told him. “I don’t know.”

“Well, this was still helpful,” he replied, covering up his frustration. “Thank you, love.”

She nodded, then leaned back into Reed as he gave a thin smile and took her from the room. Marcos gave her a little wave, and she waved back. 

“Did she give you anymore?” 

Marcos blinked at John’s question, then realized they were expecting him to translate. He shook his head. “No, she just said she was young and she didn’t know.”

“It’s better than nothing.” John sighed, raking a hand through his hair, and Clarice reached out to caress his shoulders. Marcos felt a spike of jealousy at the look they shared, but he shoved it down. He didn't have time for such feelings, and he'd get his own emotional closeness again. Eventually. 

If Lorna ever came back. 

Caitlin drifted over to Marcos, leaning tiredly against him like she didn’t even realize it. He didn’t have to think before he slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed. 

At least he had this. If he could just adjust his way of thinking, maybe it'd be enough. 

“Let’s take a lunch break,” Caitlin suggested, ever the Nurturer. “Fuel might help us think of some new way to approach the problem.”

“Good plan.” John nodded. Though Marcos, Clarice, and the others held power, he had quickly adapted to his new role as sole leader. He didn’t like it, Marcos knew, but he did it because he felt it necessary. “Meet back in an hour.” He and Clarice filtered out the door, leaving Marcos alone with Caitlin.

She leaned against his shoulder and groaned. “If I have to make one more microwave macaroni…”

“I’ll make something.” She looked at him in surprise and he tried to shrug at her like it was no big deal. “Who else would I eat with? I think I saw some tortillas and cheese. Quesadillas for five isn’t hard.”

Five. A not-quite-perfect number for them all.

Ramona Alvarez Garcia had become the person to fill the void in both the Strucker family and in Marcos’ heart. In the week she’d been living with them, she had barely left Marcos or Reed’s side, and it was a blessing. It was hard to be sad when she was around, constantly asking questions or telling Marcos (always in Spanish, as if she knew the others shouldn’t hear) that he really ought to kiss Caitlin or Reed or somebody already.

Marcos and Caitlin walked over to the room where Reed was resting and Lauren was watching Ramona. 

Lauren had taken it upon herself to help Ramona with her English in exchange for Spanish lessons. Ramona was utterly delighted to be the expert on something in her new surroundings, and spent all her free time chattering at Lauren in Spanish while the young adult tried desperately to keep up.

It melted Marcos’ heart, honestly. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine she was his own kid, fully integrated into the Strucker family. 

He was blown away by sudden rush of desire for that reality - a reality where Lorna was still around, where they weren’t fugitives, where he got to kiss and hold and sleep with all three of the people he loved, where Andy and Lauren were the perfect older siblings to a baby, where he woke up every morning in a house full of people who loved and accepted each other. 

A house full of family.

“Marcos is making us lunch,” Caitlin announced, and all he could do was nod along, still half-caught in his blissful daydream. 

“As soon as he comes down from whatever planet he’s on,” Lauren commented, cracking a tired smile. She always seemed tired, these days, not that Marcos could blame her.

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He let the Struckers lead the way back to the kitchen, still lost in thought.

The team hadn’t yet managed to find a cooktop, so they relied on a microwave, a coffee maker, and a newly-acquired mini-fridge scavenged from a college dumpster.

The tortillas were sitting on the counter and their lone frying pan was in the corner. No cooktop would mean no quesadillas for anyone besides Marcos Diaz, but he was a man with a plan and hands that lit up. 

He layered the tortillas and cheese in the frying pan, making enough for all of them. Caitlin was scrutinizing him thoroughly, having not thought to ask until just now what he was doing, while Reed seemed preoccupied with the cabinets around Marcos’ hips. He gave them both a smirk before carefully concentrating a beam of light over the flour shells.

For a second, he was the Old Marcos again, devil-may-care and full of love and not dealing with all the heartbreak. He did showy stupid things to impress people he loved, and he was quick with a sarcastic one-liner. 

He felt like himself. 

Caitlin gave a tiny gasp, throwing a hand over her mouth. _This stuff shouldn’t impress her anymore,_ Marcos thought. But he was pleased that it did. 

The smell of warm, melted cheese filled the room, making Ramona’s stomach grumble. She excused herself, blushing, while everyone laughed happily. 

He let the stack cool and handed them out one by one. Caitlin got the top of the stack, preferring the crunchiest, while Ramona got the soft one from the bottom of the stack.

Lauren filled glasses of water for the adults and handed a juice pouch to Ramona. Reed lifted his glass, and in his “Head of the Household” voice, he gave a toast. “To family.”

“To family,” Caitlin echoed, smiling kindly at Marcos as she sipped her drink. He felt his hands growing warm, matching his face, and gave a silent prayer that no one noticed a glow. 

Lauren lifted a knowing eyebrow, dashing his hopes. She looked like she had something to say about it too - probably to the effect of “I know you’re into my parents and I think it’s really weird.”

He turned away and paid lots of attention to his quesadilla. Avoidance was his favorite coping strategy. 

“Hey, Marcos,” Lauren asked suddenly, drawing his attention back. “Where did you grow up? Have you always lived around here?” She was sitting on a three-legged stool that wobbled slightly, and she rocked herself back and forth absently as she stared up at where he stood, leaning against the cabinets.

He laughed dryly. “No. I lived in Colombia til I was thirteen, then traveled my way North until I made it far enough. Only lived in Georgia about as long as I’ve been with the Underground. Why?”

She shrugged. “I feel like there’s so much we don’t know about you all, in spite of the fact we’re family now.” Ramona leaned into her side, and she wrapped her arm around the child. “So you’re an immigrant, too. Like Ramona.”

He nodded. “I remember those days.” They weren’t pleasant days. Certainly not at first. He hadn’t really been much older than Ramona, all things considered.

“I grew up around here,” Lauren volunteered. “We lived in the same house ever since I was born.” 

He tried to listen but he was gone, lost in the days of burning drugs and people and all the terrible things he had done to survive. Lorna had saved him from that life. Lorna had saved his life. And here he was, repaying her by going and falling in love with other people while she was gone. 

Nevermind she’d left. Did he even have the right to feel this way about others? To seek his own happiness? So far as he knew, they’d never ended it, so didn’t that make them technically together?

Ramona poked him in the side, dragging him away from his angst. “Thank you for the food, Marcos,” she articulated carefully, practicing her English. Lauren clapped for her, and Marcos gave her a big smile.

“You’re welcome, little one,” he replied, ruffling her hair. She beamed at him, then rushed back over to Reed, who proceeded to pick her up and spin her out into the hallway. Caitlin followed, laughing, leaving just Lauren and Marcos behind.

They stared each other down for a solid two minutes before Lauren spoke. “You’re really not subtle, you know.” She smiled fondly, the way she might’ve when Andy was being ridiculous but cute. Back when he was still around. 

Marcos tried playing dumb. “Subtle?” he asked, gathering up the used dishes. 

“I’m pretty sure everyone but you guys knows you’re into my parents.”

He shook his head, placing the dishes in the sink. “I’m in love with my girlfriend, the mother of my child.”

“Not to sound too Millennial,” she joked, knowing he was more a Millennial than she was, “but you can be in love with several people at once.”

“Lorna and I never ended things. And we were exclusive.” He turned back to Lauren, honestly curious about her opinion. “Could it ever be okay for me to pursue someone else?” He dropped all pretense; she’d never believe him if he said he wasn’t interested. Better to just get her thoughts.

Lauren pursed her lips. “Sometimes people end the relationship with their actions, not their words.”

He saw the sheer exhaustion in her soul, the way she slumped a little just thinking, and he knew she was speaking from experience. “Who are you talking about?” he asked softly.

“My ex-boyfriend, Jack. When we went on the run, he and a couple of his friends vandalized our house. Spray painted some anti-mutant graffiti on our garage door.” She shook her head violently, willing away tears and bad thoughts. “It’s dumb. It doesn’t matter. But that’s how I knew things were over.”

“Hey. If it matters to you, then it matters. It’s not dumb.” Marcos’ felt his hands getting hot; he had the urge to burn something, preferably this asshat that’d hurt Lauren. 

She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks. But going off and joining a terrorist group - that’s a pretty big action. I’m not saying you two will never get back together, but I am saying things are different now. And it’s okay for you to go after something different.”

He crossed the room and pulled her into an awkward hug. “Thanks, kid.” He patted her head, even though she wasn’t that much shorter than him. “I got you, understand? Always.”

She nodded into his chest before pulling back. “You’ll always seem more like an older brother than a parent,” she laughed. Marcos winced as she put the age gap into such sharp relief. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not okay with it.”

“Thanks.” He hadn’t realized how important her blessing was to him. 

“I can't tell you for sure if my parents are in love with you,” she said, and Marcos nodded. She couldn’t know everything. “But I do know you make them happy, and they make you pretty happy too. And I think in times like these, we have to cling desperately to something like that.”

“Wise words from an eighteen year old,” he laughed, ruffling her hair again. “But if you say anything to either of them, I will never make you a quesadilla again in your life.”

“God forbid,” she mocked. “Relax, Marcos. I know how this goes.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “I hope this works out for you. I really do. You all deserve some good these days.” 

With those words, she left him alone in the kitchen to mull it over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally didn't mean to stop updating for 4 months but sometimes life gets in the way. Hopefully I can get back to a more regular update schedule now that I've started working on this again and have some more time!  
> Family feels but this time it's everyone! I love these relationships so much - Caitlin and Marcos, Reed and Marcos, Lauren and Marcos, Reed and Caitlin...there's so much to explore and so much room for fluffy family fun.   
> I hope y'all enjoyed! I always love to know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcos' past makes an unwelcome appearance.

She always had to call at night.

The ringing of a cell phone woke bleary, hormonal Marcos up from a very intimate dream about Caitlin and Reed and while he was highly embarrassed that such a dream had even _occurred_ , he would much rather be dreaming it than be awake at two a.m. and would _most definitely_ rather be dreaming it than talking to Carmen.

“I’ve missed you, mi amor,” she informed him, though the undertone was that she’d missed having the immediate and visible control over him. “Things got a little crazy for you, so I heard.”

“I thought we were done, Carmen.” She had never officially set him free, but she had stopped calling for awhile.

It’d been a baseless hope, clearly.

She cackled on the other end of the line, and each laugh sounded like an exploding light bulb to Marcos’ skull. “Oh, never!” He could feel her patronizing smile oozing through the phone. “I heard Magnet Girl left you. I was wondering if you’d come back on your own, or if I’d have to drag you.”

“I’m done, Carmen. Besides, I was never in the Underground just for Lorna.” Not that she would ever believe or understand that Marcos hadn’t just left to chase a woman, but it was true.

Carmen tutted. “No, I’m sure people like that little girl you’ve acquired had something to do with it, too.”

He did his best to stifle any shock, keeping his tone even. “We help plenty of people. That’s why I’m here.” It was futile, though. She knew and she knew he knew she wasn't bluffing. Because of course she knew.

“Oh, I know about your new little treat. I have eyes and ears _everywhere_ , remember?” She laughed again, savoring the discomfort she knew he was feeling.

He shook his head. “Carmen, she has nothing to do with this-”

“Raaa-moooo-naaaa,” she drew out each syllable. “She’d be a pretty tool. I could train her. She’d certainly be useful.”

It was all he could do to avoid crushing the phone. “You leave her out of this.”

“Then you keep doing jobs for me.”

“Fine.”

“Get dressed and get your ass out here, then.” She hung up with a _click_ and he growled, throwing his phone across the room.

He couldn't fight the relief she hadn't mentioned the Struckers, but in a way, this was so much worse. He grabbed his Santa Muerte medallion and prayed that this would be simple.

He met John in the foyer as he wrestled with his coat. The tracker was huddled over newspapers and old records, trying to do what he did best, but clearly to no avail.

He glanced up at Marcos. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

Lorna and Sonya had been the only two to know he was still working for the Cartel, that it wasn’t just a one-off. And now Sonya was dead and Lorna was gone and it wasn't worth making anyone else worry.

John raised an eyebrow, but shrugged his shoulders. “Be safe. Let me know if you find anything useful.”

“Of course,” Marcos replied, the lie bitter and heavy on his tongue. This was just about as far from safe as he could be, but what choice did he have?

John nodded tiredly, dragging a hand down his face. His latest burner phone was on the table, its display winking a bright 2:37 am, a time unreasonable for either man to be up and about.

Marcos pitied them both. “Clarice is probably cold. Go back to bed, man. This will still be here in the morning.”

It was something John had said to him about Lorna, long ago. The memory still stuck. Marcos would've given just about anything to crawl into bed with someone right about now. Anyone. Lorna or Caitlin or Reed or hell, even John, they way they used to cram together when there wasn't enough space (and it was cold and they were fairly secure in their masculinity so it was fine, really).

Instead, he pushed himself out the door, keys in hand, and made his way resolutely to the old pickup truck at the end of the lot. It was rusty and beat up, dull grey paint peeling, and it looked like he felt inside.

He should've grabbed coffee on his way out. Or flashed some of his beams in his face. But all the caffeine and bright lights in the world wouldn't be enough to ease the exhaustion that'd taken up residence in his bones.

The engine coughed reproachfully but he peeled out of the lot as quick as he could. It'd be at least an hour on the road, even at this time of night, and he knew better than to keep Carmen waiting.

It was an hour of open road, at least, meaning Marcos could make it 45 minutes if he threw caution to the wind. His foot was practically on the floor of the truck, who growled angrily beneath his feet, and he tried not to hear all the awful sounds.

Better than being alone in silence with his thoughts, though. He turned on the radio, picking some Spanish station that played something reminding him of being young enough not to understand the idea of mutants or persecution or true fear. Something in him remembered it, and he hummed along to it, trying to drown out the swirl of bad thoughts.

He desperately wanted to end this, somehow, but taking on Carmen was an errand for suicidal men with nothing to care about. Marcos had lost a lot, but he still had so much in his life that he wasn’t willing to give up just yet.

The only person who would be willing to take on Carmen was Lorna. But she wasn’t around anymore, and if she was, Marcos would never let her, anyway. Plus, who knew if he even crossed her mind anymore.

The next song was one he hadn’t heard before, chill and soothing. It was really quite sad, if you paid attention to the lyrics: the singer’s lover wouldn’t pay her any mind, blowing in and out of her life, yet no matter what he did to her, she took him back. And all she asked was that he give in, let himself go, and love her.

Marcos chuckled mirthlessly. How on the nose.

Many songs and miles of road passed, and Marcos started to sing. It was the only thing he could do to keep from exploding with stress; he always had liked driving, but driving back to there...it felt wrong.

It made him angry.

He was like a toy on a string, one she could yank back to her over and over, and he hated it. If only he could find a way to snap the string.

Eventually, he pulled onto a long, winding road, then up to Carmen’s massive house. The door was unlocked, like she didn't want him to disturb the place, and not for the first time, Marcos felt unpleasantly like a booty call.

The feeling only intensified as he found Carmen in a red satin slip in her sitting room. “Hello, Marcos,” she said, and if it were anyone else, the way she said his name would be incredibly attractive. But Carmen got his heart racing in an entirely different way.

“What do you want?” he demanded. Best to cut straight to the chase - maybe he could make it home before sunrise. Doubtful, but maybe.

She smiled wickedly. “To see if you’d come.”

They regarded each other in silence for a minute before Marcos decided she probably wasn’t going to say anything else. “That’s it?” he asked, horrified he’d come all this way for nothing.

“It’s a little early for a job, don’t you think?” she asked coyly. “But since you’re here, sit down, and I’ll tell you about our new project.”

He really didn’t like the way she said “our.” He stayed standing.

She shrugged. “I’m compiling a list of mutants in the area,” she began, and the words sent a chill down his spine. “I was inspired by your work. I thought that I could help the community too.”

“How?” He eyed her suspiciously.

“By offering them jobs.” She laughed. “I already told you this, the very first time you answered my call.”

Another chill. Carmen didn’t make offers that people could refuse. Hence, his presence.

“And what have I got to do with it?” he asked. _Nothing_ was the answer he both desired and knew he would never get.

“Well.” She dragged out the vowel sound. “You’re so good at recruitment, I figured you could help me out too. Do a few interviews, show them the ropes, you know how it goes.”

“So you’re finding them yourself?” Marcos fought to keep the relief out of his voice - the last thing he wanted was for Carmen to make him a double agent.

She grinned wickedly. “I’ve already got a whole long list, amor. How do you think I knew about your little Ramona?”

He suppressed a groan. “Fine. Just leave my family out of this.”

“Does that include Magnet Girl?” Carmen teased. He glared at her. “Hmm. Fine. But she would’ve made a damn good recruit. And I think a woman who breaks your heart is someone I could really get along with.” She flashed her teeth again, and he _knew_ she was trying to get under his skin, but that didn’t help the fact that it was working.

“Get some rest,” she suggested. “Your first recruit comes early in the morning.”

He blinked at her, not quite comprehending. “I’m sorry, what?”

“There’s a couch in the living room. I’m sure it’s good enough for a man who lives as a fugitive. Or am I wrong?” she challenged. “Do you still have those expensive tastes you used to? Because you could always join me in the master bedroom...”

She was goading him. Seldom had the opulence of this life seduced him, so he’d liked to think - being a runaway had taught him to value stolen oatmeal packets and sleeping on wood pallets.

“I’ll manage,” he replied shortly, because what else could he do? Opposing her meant putting the whole Mutant Underground at risk, so he couldn’t just leave, but he drew the line at sharing her bed.

Carmen pursed her lips unhappily and sauntered off to bed without so much as a good night, which suited him just fine as he lay down on the couch to rest.

He thought of Caitlin, suddenly, the last person he’d shared a bed with. It seemed so long ago now. It was a tactile memory, more than anything else, the feeling of her legs tangled in his and her head on his chest. The warmth of the two of them together. The way her breath fluttered across his bare chest, the softest tickle, and the way her fingers trailed absently in her sleep all across his stomach. He let himself revel in the memory of the feeling for as long as he could hold onto it.

More than anything in the world, he wanted to go home right now and crawl into bed with Caitlin. Except Reed was there, and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed back now that her husband was home - or if he’d be allowed back at all.

The memory turned sour with uncertainty and Marcos slammed it shut. He turned on the couch, shifting to try to find comfort somewhere, and instead turned his thoughts to how he would handle this new assignment from Carmen.

Anyone without offensive powers would be easy to reject. Anyone with the wrong attitude would be easy, too, though “wrong attitude” surely meant different things to Marcos and to Carmen.

He’d have to decide what it meant in the morning. Already, he was fading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The showrunners never actually tied up the Carmen plotline, so I thought, that's perfect! I'll use it. So now she's back, and she has a new job for Marcos, in the midst of big plans that don't sound too good for anyone but Carmen.  
> Hope you enjoy! I always love to hear your thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen has some work for Marcos.

“Rise and shine, amor,” Carmen demanded, and Marcos squeezed his eyes shut tighter in annoyance. He hadn’t really been sleeping - hadn’t slept since about five a.m. - but he had been avoiding this moment, and he wished that he could continue avoiding it.

Something smooth and small hit him in the chest and his eyes flew open. She’d thrown a granola bar at him, the kind he didn’t even think she’d _glance_ at in a grocery store, and wondered briefly what kind of upside-down universe he’d wound up in where she had him sleeping on her couch and fed him granola bars. 

At least she was still in her usual clothes - if she was wearing anything other than the usual tight-but-classy black dress, he thought he’d declare himself officially lost in space.

“Your first applicants are here.” She smiled wickedly.

He groaned, but he ripped open the plastic packaging and ate the nut-and-oats creation. The universe still felt very wrong. 

Clearly, she intended everything to be done in her uncomfortably ornate sitting room. A wide-eyed seventeen-year-old was bustled in shortly after Carmen left the room, gawking at all the gold and the richness. Judging by the dirt on his face, the kid had never been exposed to this kind of life before. 

“What’s your name?” Marcos asked, and the kid snapped to attention. 

His body was pulled tight as a bowstring and he looked real ready to bolt. “I - I’m - Roberto,” he forced out, eyeing Marcos like a caged animal.

For all Marcos knew, he was. 

“Roberto,” Marcos repeated. “Have a seat.” He tried to appear non-threatening, keeping his hands on his knees and both feet on the floor. It didn’t seem to be working; Roberto shook his head sharply, just once, and backed a little farther away.

This kid was not cut out for cartel work. 

There was somewhere that would take him, though. “What's your mutation?” Marcos asked, trying to determine by sight. The kid had barely perceptible slits across his neck.

“I can breathe underwater.” It was little more than a whisper. “What does she want?”

“She wants you to help run drugs.” The kid paled. “Relax. You're not gonna be good at it, and I'm going to tell her that.”

He deflated, visibly, and Marcos couldn't tell if it was disappointment or relief. “I have nothing,” was all Roberto said. 

Marcos felt his heart break, just a little. He remembered damn well what that felt like. “Here.” He grabbed a business card out of Carmen’s little metal container and a pen off the table, not bothering to check what nonsense she put on the front of the index card. “Follow these roads,” he suggested, sketching carefully. “Go here. Look for this building. There are people who will help you.”

The kid nodded and practically bolted when Marcos pointed to the back way out. 

He got a couple minutes of silence to simply breathe before Carmen blew in. “Where did he go?” she demanded. 

Marcos shrugged. “He was useless. I sent him away.”

“Just _out_ into the world?” She glared at him disapprovingly. 

Marcos raised a single eyebrow at her. “The kid was about to piss himself and all he could do was breathe underwater. You really think he's a risk?”

She tsked. “You know I hate unsecured assets, Marcos,” she declared before blowing out of the room just long enough for him to exhale. 

She dragged in a woman with dark skin and bright blue hair. “Do better,” she snapped, and Marcos wasn't sure which one of them she was talking to. 

When she left them alone, he glanced awkwardly up at the girl who was giving him the same look. They sized each other up for a couple silent moments before she spoke.

“It's box dye,” she declared, unprompted. Marcos studied the curls of inked leaves on her skin, poking out from under her sleeves and neckline. They seemed as anxious as she did. “Which was probably dumb because people tend to automatically assume I'm a mutant now - which I thought I wanted - until _she_ came knocking on my door. How did she even fucking find me?”

Marcos shrugged helplessly. “She has a variety of sources.”

“I don't want this.” She sat down hopelessly on the edge of the couch. “My mama told me to go out and get myself a good life, no matter what people think of my mutation, and yet here I am. In a cartel.” She sighed. “The very place she wanted to keep me out of.”

“What's your name?” he asked gently, sensing she hadn't slept for quite some time and was more than a little on edge. 

“Elena,” she replied. “And I know you're going to ask me what I can do, so…” She placed her palm into her pocket and pulled out a handful of dirt - Marcos wasn't even going to try to understand that one - and waved her other hand over the dirt filled palm. Small green shoots sprouted, growing from seemingly nothing. 

She could be useful, unfortunately. As for disposition… “Have you ever held a weapon?”

“My papa tried to teach me to shoot a gun when I was sixteen and I cried the whole time.”

That was a good start. “What if someone attacks you?” 

“I can subdue them with my plants. I don't want to _hurt_ anybody!”

Carmen had walked back in for that last part and made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Of course. Useless.” She flipped her hair as she turned towards the wall, searching for something on a tabletop. “Marcos, handle this. Properly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, trying to keep the mockery at bay, for his sake and for Elena’s. Discreetly, he took another business card and began drawing another map, eyes trained on Carmen’s back. “Tell me,” he asked Elena conversationally. “Is there anything about you that makes you remotely suited for this line of work?”

Elena swallowed thickly. “I’m a grower, not a fighter. I...can cook? Bake?” she threw out hopefully, sensing the danger Carmen posed.

Carmen growled in frustration, grabbing whatever she needed. “ _Fix. this._ ” was all she said before she wheeled out of the room. 

“Out the back door. Run. Follow the directions; that’ll take you to the nearest Mutant Underground way-station, and they’ll direct you to me. We can help you get away from Carmen.” Marcos was all business.

“But - but - my mama - I support her.” Elena’s eyes filled with panic. “I have an okay life.”

“Not for long,” Marcos replied, aiming for brusque but coming off harsh. “Is your mama a mutant too?” Elena shook her head. “Take her with you anyway. Get the hell out of town. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

Elena shook her head. “Thank you.” She sounded rueful. “I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”

“That’s my job,” he replied. She opened her mouth to answer, probably to ask what the hell he meant, but Carmen’s footsteps sounded in the hallways. “Go. Now.”

She nodded, hurrying off the same way Roberto had left. 

Carmen strode into the room with a third person. She glanced around. “Where’s the body?”

“You know that’s not how I do things.” Marcos rolled his eyes.

“You’re testing my patience, amor.” She shoved the third candidate at him. “Don’t disappoint me.” And again, she was gone.

Marcos could tell this one was different. He had a sort of quiet ambition, but not the kind that gets you through business school - the kind that makes you skip it. 

“She’s a real catch, eh?” The guy began, waving his hands in the motion of curves. “I’m Elijah.”

“That’s the boss, Elijah,” Marcos said warily. He didn’t like Carmen, but he didn’t like the way this guy talked about her, either. 

Elijah shrugged like it was no big deal. “Rules, rules. I know how these things work.”

“Do you, now?”

“I’ve been running for years. Built a tiny empire of my own.”

Marcos didn’t believe the man for a minute, but he could Elijah _wanted_ his own words to be true.

“So what can you do, Elijah?” he asked skeptically. 

Elijah snapped his fingers and let lightning dance between them. “Not much,” he said with false modesty. “Just some parlor tricks.” He let his lightning arch to Marcos’ Santa Muerte medallion, delivering an uncomfortable shock, and smiled like a Great White.

Marcos did not like Elijah. 

He was a good fit for the Cartel, probably, if he lost the attitude and learned to be subservient to Carmen. But making the Cartel more powerful was the opposite of what Marcos wanted to do.

“Why do you want this life?” 

“Why not?” He spread his arms wide. “This is _the_ life. Money, drugs, women…”

A slightly disapproving _tsk_. “This is work.” Carmen had entered the room silently. “But I’ll give you a shot.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elijah smiled wide. 

“Elias, was it?” she began.

“Elijah,” he corrected, not letting her finish. Marcos knew that was a mistake.

Her mouth set in a hard line. “I don’t care.” She waved her hand. “Go upstairs. I’ll give you the tour.”

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” he said with a little too much excitement for Marcos’ taste. 

It was alright. She’d flatten him soon enough.

“You can go,” she said when Elijah had gone. Her face looked like she had taken a bit swig of sour milk. “I'll call again. Try to be more… _ready_ next time.” With that, she stalked out. 

Marcos sent up a prayer of thanks that he had escaped unscathed, but Lord only knew how long he could keep this up. It was pretty much a miracle Carmen was letting him go like this after the stunts he had pulled this morning; he couldn't even be disappointed she didn't pay him this time. 

He left the house and hopped in his car, getting out as fast as he could. Marcos knew better than to question this kind of good luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carmen was in a...charitable mood, we'll say. But we all know she won't always be that way. Marcos is going to have to figure something out for this.  
> Hope y'all enjoyed! I'm going to try to finish this before season 2 airs in 45 days so I'm gonna amp up the pace a little bit - expect more frequent updates.   
> I love to hear your thoughts and predictions!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcos does some shopping and inadvertently solves a mystery.

In spite of Carmen's exploitation of his free labor, Marcos had about $37 in his pocket, and he did not want to return home empty-handed. 

The morning sun was fat in the sky, though the air was still a bit crisp, and Marcos imagined he could hear gentle crackling as he drove along the road in silence. It would be a little while til civilization, and in the meantime, he imagined Reed in the passenger seat, entertaining him with the usual weird trivia and dad jokes and stories of Lauren when she was a little kid. 

Sometimes Reed would go days without mentioning Andy, the words too painful to bear. But sometimes, he would pour out story after story, about all sorts of things, as if he could fill the son-shaped void in his life with the memories Andy had left behind. 

Marcos wasn't picky. He liked anything that would fill the time, because life had become a waiting game for the less aggressive Mutant group while Hellfire and Sentinels went wild against each other. 

He wondered what Andy was doing to fill his time. He wondered if the boy was lonely without his family. He wondered if Lorna was lonely without hers. He wondered if she was showing a baby bump yet, and if he could feel kicks if she were there.

He forced himself to stop wondering. Reed Strucker was a smart man to limit his thinking like he did. 

There wasn’t anything good on the radio, frustrating Marcos as he idly clicked through. The silence left him alone with his loud, mournful thoughts, and while he'd always been the optimist to Lorna’s pessimist, that didn't mean he was good at forcing positivity. 

He groaned. At least there were only a couple cars on the road, which meant he didn't have to worry about other drivers. The last thing he needed was an accident to call all sorts of attention to himself. 

The best thing to think about would be a shopping list. He wanted fresh fruit, but that would be too expensive, especially this early in the spring season. He still wanted to buy Caitlin that scarf, but it would probably be too expensive too. He wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have these days, with $37 in his pocket and a target on his back. 

He could buy granola bars. Microwave meals. Boxed macaroni. Tortillas. Maybe a pair of pajama pants. 

It wasn't enough, but it was what he could do. 

There was a Walmart up ahead, and a Goodwill right next to it, and Marcos felt a little bit of lightness in his soul. Small mercies from the universe. He pulled into the lot, parking his truck not too far from the rest of the small bunch and praying nothing seemed suspicious before sliding out of the car and hurrying to the store. 

There were three young adults huddled outside the Walmart, wearing t-shirts and holding clipboards. They had the weary-yet-cheery smiles of political activists and one young woman in a bright purple flannel thrust a flyer at him. 

“Consider Rita Fuentes for Congress!” she requested in that demanding way that campaigners have, and Marcos took it, even though the odds of him voting in any election were very slim, especially one coming up while he was on the run from the government. 

He mumbled his thanks and glanced at the picture. She was a smiling Latina woman with a blonde-streaked pixie cut and a small diamond nose stud, sitting in front of a black background and ringed by red roses. His brain absently made a half-formed spanish pun about roses and fountains before he shoved the card into the pocket of his jacket, which the weather was definitely a little warm for, and walked into the store. 

The greeter squinted at him and he walked a little faster, hoping he wasn't recognized, and headed over towards the food aisles. He grabbed some easy microwave meals that he saw on sale, barely reading the label, a couple packs of tortillas, and a five-pack box of Mac n Cheese. Already he was at $15 and he winced. 

Applesauce was the fresh fruit alternative and Marcos bought an absurd amount for dirt cheap, thinking of Ramona, and then tossed a pack of day-old clearance mini cupcakes in too, because who said fugitives had to live in complete desolation?

He paid for his things at the self-check, ducking curious glances from the small town folk who had never seen him before and found that _mighty_ suspicious. Marcos knew towns like this - they could smell a mutant out real quick and bring the trouble just as fast. The amount of false alarms was pretty high in some places, but that didn't much matter to them. 

Some of Sentinel Services’ best allies were small town, everyday citizens who really hated things that seemed different. Not to mention the Purifier presence that seemed so high outside the bit cities. 

Clarice could attest to that for sure. 

He hurried out of the store with his single bag of supplies, dodging the activists trying to get his attention once again, and entered the second-hand store next door. 

The store was deserted except for a seventeen-year-old blonde girl standing behind the cash register. She dropped guiltily to the ground from where she’d been hovering. Marcos raised an eyebrow. A mutant hiding in this part of town?

She stared at him with challenge in her eyes, though looking far less intimidating than she clearly hoped in her blue vest and neatly ironed grey shirt. In return, though it was a risky move, he flashed a light at her from his cupped palms. 

Instantly, she relaxed, and a relieved smile took residence on her face. “Oh, thank God.” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I'm Natalie,” she declared, clearly deciding he was a friend.

She had a face like a southern belle and a voice to match. If she weren't a mutant, she probably could've ruled her small town until she aged out of queendom and had a couple kids. But now, she had to keep her head down and fly under the radar.

He had no idea what it was like to be in that situation, but he did know a thing or two about hiding. “Marcos.” Sometimes, it was a relief to let even a stranger in on the secret. 

“I don't get to use it much...sometimes when it's slow and I'm alone…” She couldn't form a full sentence, but Marcos nodded knowingly anyway. 

“It won't always be like this,” he promised, not knowing what else to tell her. 

She nodded emphatically. “Did you see the campaign outside? Rita Fuentes? She's running against the super racist guy who's been our representative for like years - Johnson, I think? Jackson?” She shrugged apologetically. “I only recently got into politics. I've never been old enough to care. But I like her because she says he's too harsh on immigrants and on mutants.” 

He nodded along. “We could use more people like that in office.” He began to browse the shelves for anything that stood out, something he could use his last $15 on. 

“Let me know if you need any help!” she chirped, returning to her position about a foot off the ground. 

Absently, he nodded at her again, thumbing his way through the collection of women's clothes that he couldn't afford even at this heavily discounted price. He sighed.

There was a stack of books and he found a couple in Spanish - a picture book and a middle grades book. The middle grades was more at Ramona's level but the picture book was a couple dollars cheaper so it would have to do. At least it could help Lauren develop her Spanish speaking abilities, even if it was a bit basic for her too.

He held it under his arm, glancing over at the jewelry, then glancing back at the clothes. Clothes were more valuable - the cupcakes were about the most luxury they could afford. He found a pair of worn pajama pants that maybe once had a saying on the hip but now were washed out. They were a little expensive but by his calculations he was still under, so he added a t-shirt to the stack. 

The jewelry caught his eye again and he saw a plain silver band. He shouldn't, and it was probably too expensive, but…

He pulled it out of the display case without even checking the price and carried his haul over to the girl at the register. She rang him up while he held his breath. 

“Twelve dollars and twenty-three cents,” she declared, and he blinked at her. He knew he had more than twelve dollars worth of stuff there. He had been praying it was somehow under fifteen, but twelve…?

He opened his mouth to disagree but she held up a single finger to shush him and winked. Suddenly, he was filled with gratitude. 

She waved to him as he left and he waved back with a small smile as he left. Mutants supporting mutants made any day better, even a day that started with a call from the cartel. 

He felt rather pleased with his haul, and he even spared a smile for the activists as he hurried back to his car. He'd been gone far too long already and he knew the others would be worried, and he wasn't coming back with nearly enough, but it was something. It felt good to provide anything for his family. 

A rush of warmth blossomed in his chest, accompanied by thoughts of the Struckers. He slid into the driver's seat and flipped on the radio. 

He spent the rest of the way home with his bags in the passenger seat and a quiet excitement to bestow his gifts. The ring gave him a special sort of apprehension, so he tried not to think about it, but at the same time he was very curious as to how it would be received. The winding dirt road felt longer than ever as he drove down it; all he wanted was to be back with his loved ones. 

He parked outside the abandoned school building, covered the truck with a tarp, and carried his bags indoors. 

John glanced up from the same table he had been at that morning. “What took so long?”

“It was a bust.”

“No trouble, hopefully?” John exhaled when Marcos shook his head. “Good.”

“Have you moved since I saw you?” Marcos asked, concerned. 

John shook his head, patting the schematics spread in front of him. “Clarice pulled me away for awhile but I've really gotta get this done.” 

Marcos winced sympathetically. “Good luck.”

“Did you get anything at least?” John asked hopefully. 

Marcos raised his Walmart bag. “Not enough, but some.”

“Thanks, man.” John sighed appreciatively, accepting the bag. He stood up, stretching out the muscles cramped from too long at that table. “Ramona missed you when she woke up. You should go find her,” he suggested. “I'll put these in the kitchen.”

Marcos swallowed, suddenly overcome by worry, but he bid John good luck again and went off to find the Struckers. 

He didn't have to wander long before a small green comet hit him square on. “Marcos!” she screamed, clutching his waist. 

Reed came trotting after her, smiling widely. “Hey, you're back!” Caitlin came following after, also smiling. 

“I'm back,” he replied, feeling warm and glowy all over. Again, he hoped he wasn't literally shining, though it was a distinct possibility. “I have gifts.”

“Where did you go?” Caitlin asked, and Marcos was suddenly glad John _hadn't_ asked that. 

He shrugged casually. “Early morning supply run,” he claimed. “It didn't quite pan out, but I've got some stuff.” He hoped she would accept it and move on. “Where's Lauren?”

“Training with Clarice,” Caitlin replied. “They're facing off, portals versus air shields.”

That was good; Lauren was strong but it was always useful to hone skills. “This is for her,” he said, fishing the book out of his bag. “And Ramona.”

Ramona took the book, looking at it, and many emotions crossed her face, but she swallowed them. “Gracias,” she said, working to keep her tone neutral. 

He threaded his hand in her loose hair. “I know it's a little basic, but it's all I could find.” He patted her head apologetically. 

She looked up at him from where she was, right next to his hip, and took his hand. “It...is good,” she enunciated carefully in English. “Thank you, Marcos.”

He sighed, relieved. “You’re welcome, chica.” 

“I'll teach Lauren.” She held up the book. “It will help.” Her features were set resolutely in the way of children who come from tragedy, and Marcos wished he could give her the world. 

He pulled her into a tight hug and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She glanced at him curiously and he wasn’t sure if it had been well-received until she offered a shy smile and squeezed him hard around the middle.

He pulled back, leaving her close at hand. “There’s also this.” He handed the T-shirt and pajama pants to Caitlin. “A second set. I know it gets cold in the compound at night.” 

Caitlin pressed a hand over her mouth, clutching the clothes to her chest like they were silks, not worn cotton. “Thank you so much, Marcos.” She wiped at her eyes. “This is so kind.”

He was proud of himself, and he felt like he might float away. “You're bright,” Ramona told him in Spanish, poking his side, and he struggled to get the glow back under control. He was glad to have made Caitlin happy.

Hopefully the next gift wouldn't ruin that. He pulled the small plastic baggie out of the bottom of his bag and held it out to Reed, who took it and examined it. 

“I know Caitlin should probably be the one to get you this,” he began, scratching his neck awkwardly. “But I saw it, and I wasn't sure when there would be another opportunity - I remembered you said Sentinel Services took your wedding ring - and you've been using the old costume prop but it can't be very comfortable - I'm sorry.” He stopped abruptly. “I'm not sure what I was thinking.”

Reed took a minute to digest. “You bought me...a new wedding ring?” he asked wryly, with an unreadable smile that drove Marcos crazy. 

“Yes.” Marcos rocked on his heels awkwardly and leaned back into the wall. “I did.”

“That was very sweet of you.” And then he pulled Marcos in for a big, full-body, hip-to-hip hug. 

Marcos brain shut down for a good five seconds, and there was a bit of steam curling off Reed’s shoulders when they pulled apart.

Marcos coughed, looking up at the sky. “Yeah, man. No problem.”

Reed slipped the ring on his left ring finger, holding his hand up to model to Caitlin, Marcos, and Ramona. Caitlin couldn’t stop grinning, and Reed looked just as happy.

Ramona started mumbling a Spanish children's rhyme about lovers and he swatted at her shoulder lightly. In return, she reached up, grabbing at his jacket.

The crumpled flyer tumbled out of his pocket. “What's that?” Caitlin asked, bending down to pick it up. Marcos definitely noticed the way Reed stared at her ass and once again thought about how they were (his) relationship goals. “Rita Fuentes?”

“Oh, just a political candidate.” Marcos shrugged, taking the flyer back. “They were campaigning outside the stores.”

He barely noticed Ramona’s excited bouncing until she snatched the paper right out of his hands.

“It's her!” she shrieked, and then again in Spanish, beaming. She jumped up and down. “That's my aunt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some nice introspection, a fun shopping montage, romantic moments, and plot advancement, all in one chapter! How exciting.  
> I love and cherish every review and I'm so glad y'all are enjoying what started out as a simple prompt that spiralled wildly out of control. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I'm going to try to increase the rate of posting to finish before season two premieres.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now there's information, but what will they do with it?

“Her aunt is the Democratic candidate running against Ronald Jackson?” John ran a hand over his face. “I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse.”

“It's something,” Marcos agreed. 

They had all gathered again in the conference room, with the exception of Ramona, who was to be brought in when they needed to ask her questions, and Lauren, who was to take care of her. The meeting room was dark, a single overhead light flickering weakly. Most of the relevant parties were gathered around the table, with the exception of Clarice. 

Clarice was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, shaking her head. “I can't believe…” she mumbled. “I mean, this woman ran last primary election and lost. I knew her name, I knew her face. But Rita Fuentes and Rosita Alvarez aren't exactly the easiest to connect.”

“She _has_ been mumbling about ‘Rita Rosita’ all morning,” Reed pointed out. “And it does rhyme, if nothing else.”

“She probably got married and took her spouse’s name in the States,” Marcos added. “So the odds were against us the entire time.” 

“At least we found her,” Caitlin replied, trying to force a little bit of cheer. “However unlikely that was.”

“But what do we do now that we've found her?” Clarice asked. She took a sip of coffee that was definitely not strong enough, Marcos would guess - these days, they were trying to stretch everything as far as they could. “I mean, handing an undocumented kid over to a politician has never been on my top one hundred list of good ideas.”

John nodded thoughtfully, frowning. “I agree. But we barely have enough resources here, and she should be with her family if she's anywhere besides here.”

Family didn't always mean good, Marcos reflected somewhat bitterly. But it was worth the attempt: Ramona clearly loved her aunt, and it was better she not be in a place like the Mutant Underground, which was the equivalent of living while holding your breath and waiting for the Sentinels to beat down your door. 

“Not to sound like we’re using her,” Reed began slowly, “but her aunt could be a valuable ally.”

Clarice snorted. “Or she could sell us out or trade her niece for political clout.” She shook her head firmly. “I don't trust it.”

Marcos grabbed the computer sitting off to the side and slid the laptop over to him. “Well, let's do some research.” He opened up a search and quickly found her campaign, thanking the stars yet again that they'd managed to set up their own WiFi network. “Let's see her positions on the issues.”

“How does she feel about mutants?” John asked. “That's the biggest thing.”

“Mutant rights…not on her website.” Marcus did some more searching. “But there are at least three Fox news articles about how she opposed the Trask and government partnership and that she thinks mutants deserve constitutional protections. So that's a start.”

Clarice sighed. “I suppose Fox hating her is a point in her favor,” she said grudgingly. 

Marcos switched back to the campaign site. “Her main platform is immigration and education reform,” Marcos read. “She's very pro-racial equality, understands her voter base. Her economic policies are about ‘making capitalism work for the working class.’ Hell, I think she's got a chance.”

“‘Making Capitalism work for the working class?’” Clarice repeated, wrinkling her nose slightly. “How would that even work?”

“It's Georgia,” Reed replied. “You want a socialist politician? Head north.” He shrugged. “She sounds solid. And the most important thing is that she is mutant friendly.”

John was quietly absorbing all the information, but finally he spoke up. “How will she react when it's her own niece who is a mutant?”

“I mean, we supported our own.” Caitlin gestured at herself and her husband, and Marcos appreciated that they were here. 

Of course, they were the exception. “Not every family is like you,” Marcos replied.

John rubbed his temples. “This is a mess,” he muttered softly. “Alright. Here's what we will do. Marcos and Reed, you take Ramona to Savannah. Scope out the aunt and see if she's trustworthy. If so, hand over the kid and see if she will assist us in any way.” 

“And if she's not?” Marcos asked.

“Bring her back, I guess. Call me. Maybe there’s a family we can place her with somewhere, or something.” John shook his head. Thinking of worst case scenarios was always rather taxing, but everyone knew it was best to be prepared. “We’ll make it work.”

“We always do,” Caitlin added cheerily, though like with everyone else, Marcos had noticed her cheer was a bit more strained these days. 

Reed looked at his wife. “Are you ok with this?” he asked. “This is probably at least an overnight trip.”

“I want you to leave in a couple days, so definitely.” John nodded. “Leave in the evening. Get a motel in Savannah, freshen up, and then the next day roll up to the politician’s house looking as presentable as possible.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I hate respectability politics, but they do have their uses.”

A five hour car ride with the man he was in love with. Marcos could handle it, easy. 

But the motel…

“Where do we get the money for a motel?” Marcos asked skeptically. 

John winced. “This is an important enough mission for some of the saved funds.” Clearly, it pained him, but they all knew he was right - reuniting Ramona and her aunt was quite possibly the best move in the chess game of Mutant Rights, especially if they could make an alliance. 

It was a shame that something simply being the right thing to do wasn’t enough anymore.

Caitlin didn’t look happy, exactly, but she nodded resolutely. “Go for it.” She sighed. “Take her home.”

There was a soft knock on the door, and Lauren entered with Ramona trailing behind her. “There’s a woman here? Bright blue hair, named Elena. I think she said Marcos sent her? She’s a little hard to understand?”

Marcos was up out of his seat in a snap. “I’ve got it.” The others all looked at him in confusion, but he shrugged them off. There was no easy explanation, and he honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

He should’ve sent them both to Nashville. There would be no questions then.

He made it to the only door of their building that wasn’t boarded up. There, on the equivalent of a porch, stood Elena.

“Oh, Marcos, thank god.” She deflated in relief. “I thought - how did you get here so fast?”

“I drove. How did _you_ get here so fast?” he replied, baffled. “And why don’t you come in?”

“I was afraid I was in the wrong place. That blonde girl - she didn’t really seem to understand me.” Elena kicked at the ground awkwardly. “I speak too fast and with an accent, probably, but I thought maybe I was wrong. Especially because the dirt road is so long...”

She was a nervous babbler, that was for sure. Hopefully that wouldn’t get her in trouble. “Where’s your mother?” Marcos asked. “You could’ve brought her with.”

Elena sighed, raising her hands helplessly. “She wouldn’t go. She’s a stubborn woman. I left her with a friend and told her I would come back when it was safer.” Her lip quivered and she rubbed at her eyes aggressively. “I’m sorry, it’s just been...a hellish twenty-four hours.”

“Tell me about it.” He sighed. “Listen, come on in. We’ll get you fixed up with some supplies. But you can’t tell anyone where you met me, alright?”

She snorted. “I’m not a dumbass. I highly doubt these folks know you’re daylighting with _Carmen Guerra_.” She followed him inside, pantomiming zipping her lips and locking them. 

“How old are you?” Marcos asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Twenty,” she replied without missing a beat, and Marcos stopped dead. 

“Really?”

“For real.” She shrugged with an awkward smile. “People always tell me I look old for my age.”

“Huh.” Marcos led her back to the meeting room, where Lauren had taken a seat in his vacated spot and Ramona had clambered onto the table. “Everyone, this is Elena. I met her this morning by the Walmart. She was being hassled by some locals who know where she lives and I told her we could help relocate her.”

“You did.” It was a question from John, but it was delivered rather flatly. He gave Marcos a look and Marcos knew there would be a discussion later. But for now, John softened his tone and looked at the terrified teenager, the one with the blue hair and the leaf tattoos and the limitless potential that was wasted in the current political climate. “Hi, Elena. We’ll see what we can do for you.”

“There’s another one coming,” Elena added timidly. “My - friend, Roberto. He was with me this morning.” She let out a mournful sigh. “We were separated.” Marcos wondered if she and Roberto were actually friends, or if she had run into him somehow. Either way, she was a smart one.

Caitlin jumped out of her seat. “I’ll help get you settled. Don’t you worry.” She gave a reassuring smile, taking Elena by the shoulders and steering her out of the room. Marcos wasn’t sure where Caitlin was taking the girl, but he trusted her.

“Two?” John asked when they were out of the room. “Two mutants. Zero warning.”

“I - it must’ve slipped my mind.” Marcos shrugged apologetically. It was the truth, but it sounded like a sorry excuse.

“You got in a fight this morning and it ‘slipped your mind?’” Clarice asked, eyebrows raised. She always sniffed out the bullshit, and normally Marcos appreciated that, but now it was purposeful and necessary bullshit.

“It wasn't a fight. It wasn't even a big deal.” Marcos shrugged helplessly. “I got home and just delivered what I had bought.”

“From a store where you saw an incident going on and intervened,” John said skeptically. “An incident big enough that you decided relocating her and her friend was worth our resources.”

“There was a lot happening. I woke up _real_ early today.” He shot a pleading look at John. “And I was relieved to get home.”

Unfortunately, that excuse backfired. “What was that about, anyway?” John asked.

Marcos threw his head back in frustration. “For God’s sakes, leave me in peace!” he shouted. They all stared at him blankly, except for Ramona with her wide, fear-filled eyes and Lauren who seemed to have gotten the gist of it; with a start, he realized he’d slipped into Spanish.

Without another word, he stormed out of the meeting room and out of the building. It may have been a poorly considered, reckless, guaranteed-to-go-wrong plan, but he just needed some space to breathe and to think. 

He’d asked them for peace. And it was true, he hadn’t known peace since Carmen called him. But more than that, he hadn’t known peace since Lorna left him, or since the Strucker kids blew up their goddamn high school, or since he left his house at the age of thirteen and fended for himself the whole way.

He wiped at his face, refusing to mentally acknowledge the few frustrated tears he was shedding.

One foot in front of the other, he walked down the winding dirt path, step by step, wondering when he would hit the real road. Wondering when he would have to turn back.

There was a pounding from behind him, heavy and purposeful footfalls. Someone was coming. He wondered who had bothered to come after him.

Reed put a hand on his shoulder, then doubled over, wheezing. “God, Marcos,” he said between each pant. “You make a man remember he’s old.”

“You’re not old,” Marcos responded automatically, and then realized the conversation was getting to a place where he didn’t want to think about.

“I’m a little old,” Reed replied, laughing. “But thanks. Not too old for you, though!”

Marcos choked. “What?” He had definitely had the same thought, but to hear it out loud was something he hadn't expected. 

“To keep up with you,” Reed said, so smoothly and without awkwardness that Marcos thought he might’ve imagined what he’d first heard.

They walked along the trail in silence for awhile, Reed appreciating the mottled afternoon light through the trees and Marcos appreciating Reed. He wasn’t sure why the man had followed him out here, but he didn’t want to break the comfortable silence to ask. What he did want to do was hold Reed’s hand, but he was definitely too much a coward to try it.

Reed looked at him and Marcos glanced away fast, like he was a silly high school kid who couldn’t make eye contact with his crush, when in reality, he was a nearly-thirty-year-old who couldn’t do it. 

“My wife is better at a lot of things than I am,” Reed began, and Marcos wondered where the hell he was going with this. “Emotional support is one of the biggest ones. But...I’m here for you, Marcos. Whatever’s going on in your life, I can at least listen.”

Marcos was overcome with a rush of gratitude. “Thanks, man,” he choked out. “I really appreciate it.” 

Reed reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly, and the small bit of contact felt like a livewire between them. “Do you need anything?”

“I think I’m good now,” Marcos said, and surprisingly, it felt like the truth. 

Reed smiled at him warmly, making very intense eye contact, and the fifteen-year-old part of Marcos’ brain was tempted to look away, but he didn’t. “I’m glad,” Reed said, and it may have been Marcos’ imagination, but he seemed to be getting closer. It’d take barely any effort for Marcos to just lean forward and press his lips - 

“ _MARCOS!_ ” someone screamed, practically sobbing with relief. Both men whipped their heads around to see Roberto running on his scrawny legs down the dirt road.

Marcos swore under his breath. This kid had the _worst_ timing. But in this life, rarely did Marcos get what he wanted.

“Welcome to the Mutant Underground, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this fic, I didn't intend to have so many OCs. But now that they're here, I would die for them all.   
> We're past the halfway point! But Marcos still has a lot in store, with some big adventures ahead of him. There will be fluff, there will be angst, and there will be resolution. I'm very much on track to finish in time, though.  
> Thank you for the support!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Underground helps out their new visitors, and Lauren gets reunited with an important person.

“So here's the second.” John rubbed his hands against his temples. “There we go.”

He kept looking at Marcos, a kind of concerned and confused look that made Marcos pretty guilty. John was his best friend - it used to be that they had no secrets between them. 

A lot of things were different, back then. 

Roberto waved a tiny hello, but his eyes were bouncing back and forth between members of the party - they were going so fast Marcos thought they might pop out of his head. 

Elena squeezed his hand surreptitiously and Marcos decided there was probably some sort of familiarity there. He was curious for the full story, but he couldn't ask in front of everyone without blowing his cover, so he bit his tongue. 

“So here's the plan,” John began. “Roberto, Elena - Marcos said you were being hassled by locals, right?” There was doubt in his voice and Marcos tried not to swear. Still, it wasn't an outright challenge. “So we don't need to get you to Mexico, just somewhere else.”

Elena winced, like she hadn't realized Mexico was even an option. “Just…somewhere they can't bother me anymore. Bother us,” she corrected herself.

“What's going to happen is this.” John pointed to a stack of boxes, which was the meager supplies they'd managed to pull together for the exchange that night. “We have a convoy coming from our way station in Tennessee. That's far enough for you. We're gonna send you along with them, and they'll get you resettled.” He sighed. “We can't give you much-”

“This is more than fine,” Roberto cut John off, sounding more sure of himself than he had all day. “Thank you so much.” He squeezed Elena’s hand again, drawing some strength from it. 

Clarice led the two refugees over to a bag and some supplies, starting to explain everything they would need and want. She looked at ease in the role of a leader, and it impressed Marcos. He also very much appreciated it, because they needed all the strong leadership they could get these days.

Lauren’s ears had perked up at the mention of Nashville. “Will Wes be coming?” she asked John, uncharacteristically shy. Marcos felt his heart melt; it had been several months since she had seen him, and cell phones weren’t really for ‘Hey baby how are you?’ texts these days, so it’d be nice for her to see him again.

He liked the kid. Wes’ relationship with the Struckers had started off...rocky, to say the least. But to Marcos, the Struckers had always been looking at it from a place of privilege. Sometimes, you steal to survive. Sometimes you do things you regret.

Sometimes, you join up with a group of people who turn out to be no good for you. 

Marcos understood Wes, probably more than anyone else in the Underground did. He was glad that Reed’s overzealous parenting hadn’t scared the kid off of Lauren forever, because Wes was definitely good boyfriend material. Marcos approved, and he felt wholly convinced he’d never have to kick Wes’ ass for hurting Lauren.

There he was, thinking like he was her parent or something, Marcos realized. He bit back a small smile.

He spent the rest of the time packing boxes and idly chatting with Elena. She worked full time at a greenhouse (no surprise there) to help support her mother. She and Roberto lived in the same apartment complex and had basically grown up together, though a few years apart. Elijah lived there too, she told him, and they shared a look of distaste. 

Carmen had nabbed the three of them in a single swoop twenty-four hours earlier, Elena whispered when she was sure no one was around to overhear.

Marcos hadn't really noticed he had been keeping an eye on Lauren until he saw the minute shifts in her facial expression and realized Wes must be here. She was shy, and then she was determined, and then she was sprinting across the room to throw herself at the uncharacteristically nervous smiling boy. 

He was happy for the two of them. 

“Welcome back,” Marcos greeted after Lauren had partially disentangled herself from Wes. The boy’s arm was still around her waist and they were still close enough that Jesus would struggle for air between them, but they would only be young for so long. Marcos was no prude. 

“Good to be home,” Wes replied with a grin, sneaking in to give Lauren a big kiss on the cheek. “I hear you've got some packages for me to deliver up north?”

Marcos rolled his eyes. “This isn't a spy movie. They're people.”

“Ay! Idiot!” Elena’s eyes widened when they settled on Wes and she started shouting at him in Spanish so fast Lauren’s head was clearly spinning. 

Marcos held up a hand for peace. “So you already know each other,” he stated flatly, wondering how small the world was. “That's...helpful.”

“The last time I saw this jackass, he robbed my fridge and left me in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye.” Elena glared. “Jackass.”

“English?” Lauren requested, and Marcos offered a quick translation. “Thank you. She speaks fast and the only word I knew was 'pendejo.’”

“Elena, I'm sorry!” Wes was holding up both hands in surrender. He was speaking English, whether out of habit or for Lauren's sake, Marcos wasn't sure. “Look, I had to go. My dad would've kicked all of our asses if I didn't get the hell away from there. It was a dick move, yeah, and I regret it. But it's been years!”

“And I still live in the same apartment, and he is nowhere to be found. You don't remember the way home?” she challenged. But then she sighed and rushed forward to hug him. “I missed you, jackass.”

Lauren hadn’t quite given up on understanding, furrowing her brow as she stepped to left to give them space. “They lived in the same building?” she asked Marcos.

“We all grew up together,” Roberto supplied, taking pity on Lauren and speaking careful English. “Until Wes got kicked out and left. Elena’s mom sent him on his way with a care package of food, but Elena likes to say he stole the food and left. She’s just bitter he never said goodbye.” Roberto sighed wistfully. “We used to be like a family, us three.”

“Huh.” Lauren made a conflicted face, and Marcos felt duty-bound to step in. 

He pulled her aside, out of earshot of the others. “What’s wrong?” he asked as gently as he could.

She shrugged awkwardly. “I just...at first I was a little upset because he’d never ever mentioned them to me, and then I realized he doesn’t really talk about his past at all, and I was grateful for this small window in, and then I realized we don’t really talk much in general…” All her worries came out in one huge rush. “I miss my boyfriend every day, and I still miss him when we’re in the same damn room.”

“You could go to Nashville,” Marcos said without thinking, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Who was he to tell her that? But it was true; she was an adult, and she was an important member of the Underground, and she could choose to go help out in Nashville if she wanted. 

He just would rather keep her around. 

She shook her head. “I wish.” She smiled wistfully. “But my place is here. With my family. With the building.” She swallowed. “And I want to be here…if Andy…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, but Marcos knew exactly what she meant. He felt it too.

“Lorna and I used to use payphones,” Marcos offered, and he wasn’t exactly sure where it’d come from, but the look on her face made it worth it. “If you’re ever somewhere that’s not...you know, the middle of a forest, you could always try that.” He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant to reach Wes or to reach Andy, but either way. “When you’ve used cell phones all your life, it’s kind of a weird adjustment, but it works.”

“Everything is an adjustment, these days.” And then she hugged him, and it felt like family. “Thank you.” 

The convoy didn’t need to leave right away, so Wes and Lauren disappeared to hang out and talk for awhile. And probably other things, Marcos thought, because he remembered being that age, so when someone asked him to go find Wes, he politely declined and made himself busy loading the truck with Elena, Roberto, and some of the people from the way station.

He laughed in spite of himself when Wes appeared, thoroughly out of breath and with a guilty-pleased look on his face. Marcos didn’t notice any hickeys, but they were clever kids. 

Lauren trailed out behind him, also out of breath, though at a much slower pace, and they shared one last goodbye kiss with a promise to try to talk more. Marcos shook hands with Elena and Roberto, who both surprised him with grateful hugs, and made them promise to keep him updated.

They watched the truck go, Lauren leaning absently against Marcos’ side, and he could tell they were both worried about what was in store for the truck’s occupants. 

“So many goodbyes,” Lauren mused. “I can’t believe Ramona’s leaving tomorrow too.”

“We don’t know for sure,” Marcos replied, even though he knew he was supposed to hope it worked out with her and her aunt. “But probably, yeah.”

Lauren sighed heavily. “I’m sick of losing people. I’m sick of having to let go.” She turned around to face Marcos and embraced him, leaning her head against his chest. “I hate it,” she added, muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

She was really rather small, though he forgot about it oftentimes. Lauren Strucker had an aura of maturity, of competence, and it was easy to forget she was barely more than a child. But that’s what she was, and her brother even younger, wherever the hell he was now, and they were fighting in a war and suddenly, he was pissed at the entire world that had made things this way.

“Me too.” He squeezed her tighter. “Me too.” 

“I know it’s not fair,” she began, looking up at him, and he didn’t acknowledge the tears glistening in her eyes for her sake. “I know it’s not fair, but...promise me you won’t leave.”

It wasn’t fair, because they might get separated out by the Sentinels or the needs of the Underground or even Carmen Guerra. But that didn’t stop him.

“I promise.” And he really, truly meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include Wes! Give Lauren back her BF. Also, I really feel like there should've been more Marcos&Wes interaction in the show because their backgrounds have so much in common! Marcos would be in a position to understand him that really nobody else is.   
> I love me some Lauren&Marcos. They're great friends and so fun to explore.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! 27 days left til the premiere!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcos receives some unwelcome news and begins his roadtrip.

“I don’t want to go,” Ramona declared, and Marcos wanted that to be the deciding factor, but he knew it couldn’t be. She was a child, and the safest place for her was not an underground network of fugitives helping other fugitives and constantly worrying about being attacked. 

It was strange, though, because she’d been so excited to find her aunt in the first place.

“I know, love,” he replied, packing up his overnight bag. “And I don’t want you to go, either. But we have to try.”

Ramona climbed onto the bed in front of Marcos, blocking him from reaching his bag. She was chewing her lip with worry, staring up at him with big eyes. “But what if…” her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if she doesn’t love me? Because I’m a mutant?”

“Then we’ll bring you right back here and we’ll figure out another plan.” Marcos pulled her into a hug, lifting her off the bed, and then placing her down on the ground so he could continue packing. 

Their plan was risky and cobbled together at best: show up on this woman’s doorstep tomorrow morning and say, “Hey, we know your brother was trying to cross the border, but he and his wife got taken out by Sentinel Services so now your niece is an orphan. And also a mutant.” Then, if that went over badly, they’d leave, and if it went over well, they’d make a pitch for helping to support the Mutant Underground.

Marcos wished Sonya was still here. The odds of this going badly were too high, and he’d hate to leave the woman with an impression of what they looked like and who they were. Dreamer would have stolen the memories away right when they needed, but instead, they just had to take their chances.

He was real sick of people dying and leaving.

“Lauren said you had a girlfriend,” Ramona said after awhile. “And she was gonna have a baby.”

Speaking of people leaving. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I did.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She thought we weren’t doing enough here,” Marcos answered carefully. “So she left with Lauren’s brother to try to do some more.”

Ramona nodded, but after a moment, she said, “But you’re doing lots here! You’re helping a ton of people like me. And - those other people. From before.” She probably meant Roberto and Elena.

“I know,” Marcos replied sadly. “Just not the way she wanted to.”

Ramona sighed, equally sadly, which was almost funny coming from a kid her age. “I wish I could’ve met her.” But it wasn’t funny, because a kid like her had seen all sorts of horrors that made her older than her years.

“Maybe you will, someday.” Marcos pulled his nicest shirt from the closet. “Listen, can you give me a few minutes alone? I need to think.” He loathed to let her go, but he didn’t feel capable of being good company right now.

Ramona shrugged, hopping off the edge of the bed, and left the room, presumably to go find Reed and Lauren and Caitlin before she had to leave, possibly for good. Probably for good.

God, he should’ve hugged that kid more.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, wondering if he’d be able to cope with life without her. Already, she felt integral to his happiness and well-being. She was also a large part of the excuse he’d had to spend so much time with the Struckers. 

In short, Ramona had come to fill a void he’d felt since the day Lorna and Andy had left. A void he didn’t want to go back to feeling.

His phone began to ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, love,” came Carmen’s voice on the other end of the line. “I have a job for you.”

His heart plummeted, like it always did, but now with even more trepidation. “When?” he asked tentatively, because he really didn’t have time for this.

“Now. I’m an impatient woman.” He could practically hear the wicked smile in her voice. She always did love having control over people.

He shook his head. “Carmen, I can’t. I’m busy.” As if to prove his point to the universe, he got up again and started putting socks and pants in his bag.

“Lucky for you, you can do what I want from right there.” She tutted. “Or else this may have gone a little...badly. For you.”

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

Instead of answering, she asked, “Have you seen the news?” 

Marcos swore, but he wasn’t by a TV or computer. It was times like these he really hated having a flip phone. “No,” he admitted. 

“It looks like Magnet Girl has been busy. Did you know they were in North Carolina?” Carmen asked, not even waiting for an answer before she added, “Of course you didn’t.”

Marcos rubbed his free hand over his eyes and sat back on the bed. “What did they hit?” he asked, hating the feeling of dependence on Carmen for a source of information.

“A shopping mall. That just so happened to house one of my competitors in the basement, so maybe I should send them a gift basket.” Carmen laughed. “I think Magnet Girl and I might really get along.”

_I doubt it,_ Marcos thought to himself. “So what does this have to do with me?” He laid down, suddenly overcome by exhaustion.

“I want some information on who Magnet Girl is running with these days.” It was a flat demand, devoid of emotion, which left Marcos wondering if this was simply business for Carmen.

“There’s the kid, Andy Strucker.” Marcos swallowed, deciding how much to reveal. “He’s got the power to pull things apart. And you know Lorna, Magnets and all that.” 

“I knew this,” Carmen snapped impatiently. Marcos flinched, even though she was miles away. “Tell me something else about the Strucker child.”

“There is nothing else. He just pulls things apart, like they were Legos or something,” Marcos lied, keeping his voice steady. If Carmen found out about just how overpowered the kid could be, things would get much, much worse.

She sounded unconvinced, but she let it be. “Who else?”

“There’s the Frost sisters,” Marcos said, feeling his mouth curl with distaste around their name. “Esme, Sophie...there’s a third, I don’t remember her name. They’re a hivemind so it’s basically all Esme anyway.”

He could hear the sneer. “Is her power just being three people?”

“No, she’s - she’s a telepath.” He left out the fact that she could control people with her mind, because while he believed in Esme’s ability to hold her own against Carmen, a team up between the two might be disastrous. 

Carmen sighed. Telepathy was a fairly common mutation, and clearly not what she was looking for. “Who else?”

“Um...Sage is basically a human computer,” he said. “Fade can turn invisible.”

“That,” she declared. “That intrigues me.”

“He’s a grumpy old white guy.” Marcos did not think Fade and Carmen could get along. “You’re welcome to try if you like.”

She made a growling noise. “Who else?” she asked again. 

“That’s it,” Marcos lied, because he really didn’t feel like running through the list of defectors any longer. “Anyone else, they picked up along the way.”

“Hmph. Well, it’s something,” Carmen said, and then she hung up without a goodbye.

Marcos sighed, sitting up to throw his phone off into the corner of the room, because it was the only relief he could get. Then he thought better of being vertical and flopped face-down back onto the bed. 

“Knock knock,” Caitlin said, leaning against the doorframe. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he groaned, though he couldn’t explain the reason for his honesty. It’s not like he intended to tell her about Carmen. Still, he craved whatever comfort Caitlin could give. 

“Oh, honey,” she said in that soft sympathetic voice that turned his insides to mush. She sat down on the bed next to him and started rubbing at his shoulders, which felt amazing on so many levels. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Who was on the phone?”

“An old contact.” It wasn’t a lie. “She said they attacked a mall in North Carolina.”

Caitlin didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ was. She sucked in a breath. “Why a mall? How is that supposed to help the cause?” 

He sighed. “I don’t know.” 

She hit a particularly tense spot and he made a noise halfway between a hiss and a moan. “Sorry!” she fussed, pulling her hands back. 

“No, it’s fine. This feels great.” He leaned into her when she put her hands back. “Also, I don’t want to lose Ramona,” he confessed. 

She worked her way down his spine. “Me neither,” she said softly. Then, with practiced ease, she added, “We won’t lose her, though. She’ll keep in touch.” As if repeating it enough to the universe would make it true.

“I hope so.” Marcos lay there, enjoying her back rub in silence for a few minutes. It was like magic, it was like relief, it was like...love. But he didn’t quite want to think about that.

“Are you ready to go?” Caitlin asked after a little while, hands kneading around his hips.

He wasn't. “Almost,” he replied, which was the wrong answer because it made her take her hands away. He restrained himself from whining and asking her to keep going, because he was an adult, and he pushed himself up onto his knees. “I should finish that, shouldn't I?”

“Probably,” she agreed, smiling at him in that teasing way that made her nose crinkle and her eyebrows raise. It was very adorable. “I'll stop distracting you. I need to go see how Reed’s doing, anyway,” she said with a touch of concern, but before Marcos could ask why, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I'll see you before you go!”

And then she was gone, leaving Marcos clutching at the place where her lips were seconds before, mouth agape. It was almost as if he’d imagined it, except he couldn't have, could he? He would know if it was a dream, because it felt real and he could still feel the sensation of her soft lips against his stubbly skin and it was better than he'd dreamed. 

He wondered if Reed would be upset. He wondered if this was the sort of thing you were supposed to tell your good friend, that his wife kissed you, except it was on the cheek and that could easily be casual and platonic, right?

The thought made his heart sink. He continued to pack his bag, pushing away thoughts of Caitlin, and once he had everything, he double checked, because it wasn't as though they could just pick up something he'd forgotten. Also it was easier. 

It turned out that he didn't have time to see Caitlin again before he left - John was rushing them out the door, “It's safer to drive in daylight. Less suspicious with a kid in the car.” - and Reed had been ready to go for a half hour. 

Ramona hadn't really had anything to pack, just the same pink backpack she'd arrived with, packed full of snacks and the book Marcos had bought her. She looked very unhappy in the back seat, with a dark blue baseball cap on to cover her hair, though it didn’t do a great job, and a t-shirt that was a bit too big and a worn pair of pink leggings. The idea was that she’d look like a very typical pre-teen and that nobody would give them any trouble. The scowl on her face was certainly going to help with that.

Reed drove. That was fine by Marcos, because it was a long drive he wasn't quite ready for after the emotionally taxing trek to Carmen’s a couple days earlier, and he could nap while Reed drove. One of the valuable qualities fugitives acquired was the ability to sleep anywhere, no matter how unfavorable the conditions. 

He passed out after about fifteen minutes, listening to the quiet drone of the radio on some classic rock station Reed had chosen, which seemed like a very Dad kind of music. His last waking thought was to wonder if Lauren and Andy had grown up listening to this station whenever Reed drove them anywhere.

An annoyed Ramona kicked the back of his seat an hour and a half later. “I’m bored,” she declared. “How much longer?”

“Awhile,” Marcos replied.

“How long is that?”

“Four hours, give or take.”

Ramona made a grumpy noise. “I’m bored,” she repeated.

And then Reed did the most ridiculously dorky thing he possibly could have done, and Marcos was pretty sure it made him fall in love all the more. “I spy with my little eye...something blue.”

“What is he doing?” Ramona asked, because ‘I Spy’ was probably not a game she had encountered before.

“He describes something and you guess what it is,” Marcos explained. “Is it that sign?” he asked Reed, pointing to the exit sign up ahead. 

“Very good!” Reed grinned, and Marcos wondered if he imagined the pain hiding just behind it. “Now it’s your turn.”

Marcos snorted, and he decided not to ask about it. “I spy with my little eye…” He felt ridiculous just saying it, but Reed was absolutely beaming. He laid eyes on a white car a bit ahead, the only one driving. “Something white.”

Ramona looked out both windows. “That plant?” she asked, but it was already gone by the time Marcos looked, which was one of the struggles of car games. 

“No,” he replied. “Try again.”

She stared around, then locked eyes on the car up ahead. “Is it...that?” she pointed and made an imitation of a car sound.

“The car?”

“Yes, car.”

Marcos smiled. “Good job!”

Ramona clapped once. “My turn. I see…a thing that is nice.”

It wasn’t exactly how the game worked, so far as Marcos was aware, but it’d be fine. “A tree?” he guessed, because there were some along the highway. She shook her head. “You?” She rolled her eyes with a small smile, but shook her head again. “Reed?”

“Yes!” she shrieked.

It was domestic, and Marcos loved it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was just a roadtrip with two of his favorite people, and he didn’t feel quite so sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could Carmen possibly want? Is this moving us towards our end-game? *wiggles eyebrows*  
> Poor Marcos is absolutely riddled with angst over so many things. But he'll get through it, especially if he gets to delight in moments like these.  
> Not too long until the end of this fic now, or until the season two premiere! I cannot wait. For either of them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of a roadtrip.

They stopped at a McDonald’s for dinner, in true American fashion, after they’d been driving for about three hours. Ramona had stopped being entertained by the game about forty-five minutes earlier, and had loudly demanded that they leave the car several times, or at one point, that they turn around and go home. 

This was the exhausting part of parenthood, Reed whispered to Marcos as they stood in line. His hot breath tickled Marcos’ ear, and the three of them huddled close for the feeling of safety it provide. They’d entered and left Atlanta a long while ago, which meant the towns were getting progressively smaller, and the people staring at Ramona’s green hair didn’t seem to be the friendly type.

Marcos pulled her closer and tucked her hair back into her cap. He remembered the days of hair dye and hiding for Lorna, and while the Emerald green was beautiful, there was a reason she’d dyed it all.

“Maybe we should get her a beanie,” Marcos whispered, which Reed seemed to seriously consider.

The bored teenager at the counter appraised them. “Next!” she called, and barely waited for them to step up to the counter before asking them for their order.

Reed carefully ordered himself and Marcos two very cheap meals, and then got a Happy Meal for Ramona. The three settled into a booth in the back, one that gave Marcos a clear view of both exits, and ate their meal. 

Ramona consumed her chicken nuggets in silence, kicking her feet under the table. Marcos reached for her hand on the table next to him, but she yanked it away and used it to grab a fry instead. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She didn’t even sound particularly convinced of her own lie.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Papa,” she whined, and then slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening. “Marcos,” she corrected herself. “Leave me alone.” 

Now there was a development. One he didn’t quite know what to make of.

He elected not to acknowledge it, but Reed didn’t. “Did you just call Marcos ‘dad?’” he asked, and then all of a sudden, Ramona was screaming.

It was mostly in Spanish, but when she wanted Reed to know what she was saying she deliberately switched to English. Even Marcos, a native speaker, had trouble keeping up with her angry words.

“You lied,” she screamed. “You told me you loved me and you lied, or else you would keep me. I don’t want to _go_ , I want to stay with you.”

The few people in the McDonald’s were staring at them, a mixture of curious and judgmental. 

“She won’t love me because I’m different,” Ramona screeched. 

An old white lady, grey haired and maybe seventy years old, tapped on the table. “Is everything alright here?” she asked.

Instantly, Ramona slammed her mouth shut, but her eyes were welling with tears and they were spilling onto her cheeks. Marcos pulled her in tight and gave Reed a look that said ‘Handle This.’

“Well, my husband and I are taking our daughter on a trip,” Reed began, trying his best to sound convincing. Marcos nearly choked at the ease with which Reed called him ‘husband,’ but he kept his face carefully neutral, whispering in Spanish to calm Ramona down.

“To visit her aunt, down on the coast,” Reed continued, and suddenly he was wincing and gritting his teeth, but only Marcos seemed to notice. “My husband’s sister. And, you know, it’s been awhile since the whole family’s been together. My girl got in a bit of a fight last time we were there, and it’s the first time back. She’s a little nervous.”

“Oh, my.” The lady nodded sagely, patting Ramona on the wrist. Ramona looked up at her distrustfully, but she seemed unperturbed. “Well, a pretty little biscuit like you will be well received, I think, as long as you remember your manners.”

She nodded again, smiling as if she had just given them something great. Other people were continuing to stare, and Marcos saw a couple phones poised to make a call. Maybe he was being suspicious, but…

He nudged Ramona. “Say thank you, and then we’ll get out of here.”

“She’s weird,” Ramona whispered back in Spanish. 

“I agree, but just do it, please.”

“Thank you,” she carefully enunciate. Then she looked back down at the table, pointedly away from the strange and slightly intimidating old woman. 

Marcos nodded. “We should probably get going,” he said, hoping the woman didn’t comment on his half eaten burger, which he surreptitiously wrapped up with his left hand. “Reed, honey?” 

Reed checked his watch. “Oh wow, we’re burning daylight,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.” He took the old woman’s hand, smiling warmly, and shook it, then squeezed around her. He scooped up Ramona in his arms with only the tiniest of pained grunts, as she clutched her Happy Meal box tightly and frustratedly, and then headed towards the exit as quickly as he could manage without seeming suspicious. 

Marcos gave the old woman a taxed smile and followed. It may have been his imagination, but out of the corner of his eye he thought her eyes flashed electric blue when he left. 

He’d seen eyes like that before. He wasn’t willing to risk it.

When Ramona was buckled into the car, when they were safely out of the parking lot, she declared, “That lady was weird.”

“Gave me the heebie jeebies,” Reed agreed, and Marcos wondered how he was in love with a man who unironically said ‘heebie jeebies.’

He coughed awkwardly. “Quick thinking on that cover story. Uh, the husband thing.” He felt Ramona’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, and he wasn’t sure if it was more misguided pre-teen matchmaking or if she was waiting for him to acknowledge what had happened in the restaurant. 

“Thanks.” Reed smiled warmly. He showed no indication of being in pain, though he’d seemed to be suffering in the restaurant. Then, in his most fatherly tone, he asked, “Ramona, can you please explain to me what’s wrong? I didn’t understand most of it, since it was in Spanish.”

She hmphed, tucking her chin down. “It’s not a big deal,” she told him, a weird mixture of angry and embarrassed. 

Marcos did not understand children one bit.

“If it matters to you, then it is a big deal,” Reed replied, and Marcos really admired that response: it seemed to be just right, supportive but not prying.

All of a sudden it was pouring out, how she was worried her aunt wouldn’t love her because she was a mutant - she’d overheard some of their meetings, Marcos realized guiltily - and how she hadn’t seen her aunt in forever and how she wanted to stay with Marcos and Reed and they could be like her new Dads and how she thought they were doing this because they didn’t love her enough, but she loved them, very very much.

This felt like something that ought to be done in the motel room, but it was happening about two hours from where they needed to be, so it'd have to do. 

“Of course I love you,” Marcos exclaimed. “Do you think I want to give you back?” He made sure to speak English, taking pity on poor Reed who had to this point only understood about half of what had happened throughout the car ride. 

“Then why do you want to throw me away?” she asked. “Like _garbage_?” She sounded mildly uncertain and he wasn't sure if it was an ‘English is my second language’ moment or if she was just being melodramatic. 

“I want to keep you and I want to watch you grow up,” Marcos replied. “But it's not safe for you with us. Every day on the news, they talk about catching mutants. Bad Men are after us, but if you're with your aunt you might have a good life. A safe life.”

“We want you to be safe more than we want you to be with us,” Reed said gently, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Even though -” he broke off. In halting Spanish, he told her, “I love you very much.”

She corrected his pronunciation, but she was grinning, and her eyes were far less glassy and full of tears. 

“I know you're scared,” Marcos soothed. “I’m a little scared too. But we have to hope for the best. Hope is what keeps us going. And if things go wrong, we make another plan. Okay?”

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded. “Okay.” She kicked Marcos’ seat back. “I still hate long time in cars.”

He laughed. “You and me both, sweetheart.”

Marcos switched the station to Spanish pop, which put Ramona in a better mood. They even sang along together to some while Reed drum-beat the rhythms onto the steering wheel. 

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. Reed carefully stuck to the speed limit, even on the highway, because it was late and there were fewer cars around. Four times, they saw cop cars on their way, and Marcos was mumbling an _Ave Maria_ under his breath every time. By the third time, Ramona joined in. 

They made it to a motel on the outskirts of Savannah by about 10:30 pm. Marcos carried their bags and Reed carried a very sleepy Ramona. 

Marcos was pretty sure Reed got the better job. 

There was a woman at the desk. She had perfect curls and a perfectly made up face, and she had her nose buried in what looked to Marcos like a bodice ripper of a Harlequin romance. She looked to be in about her forties, and from the way she pointedly ignored the three of them, Marcos would guess she far preferred fantasy to her job. 

Reed rang the bell again. “Excuse me,” he tried. 

She looked up at them and smacked her gum. “What do you want?”

“We're here to rent a room. Two beds, please,” Marcos asked quickly, not sure what Reed would've said if given the option. 

She shook her head. “Sorry. We're mostly full. Only a couple rooms open, one bed each. But your little girl’s small, she’ll fit on a cot.” The woman picked a key off a wall and threw it to Marcos, then fished a small box out of the closet behind her desk. “How long?”

“That’s fine,” Reed said before Marcos could suggest maybe they go somewhere else. “Just one night.” Reed paid. He took the box, careful not to drop Ramona. “Thank you.”

The lady shrugged, plopped down in her chair, and went back to reading. 

They made their way to room 112, which was tucked into a corner and felt fairly defensible to Marcos. He hated that that was a consideration he had to make; he wished he could just truly be on a shitty road trip with his husband to visit family. 

Alas. That was not his path. 

They unfolded the “box,” which turned out to be a futon with a stiff mattress. Ramona lay down immediately, yawning, and stole a blanket off the bed. 

“You have to brush your teeth,” Reed said absently, on dad-mode autopilot. He was glancing around the modest offerings of the motel and Marcos wondered what kind of hotels he had stayed in before his life went to shit. 

Ramona, surprisingly, obeyed without a grumble, dragging her backpack into the bathroom with her. Marcos listened to the soft stream of the water and felt a rush of domesticity.

“This isn't weird, is it?” Reed asked after a beat, uncharacteristically awkward. “I mean, we’re both adults.”

Great. Reed didn't want to share a bed with him, even though he was desperate for the closeness. “Yeah man,” he replied, equally as awkward. “No big deal. I mean, it's like when I slept with Caitlin,” he added without thinking, because he was an absolute dumbass.

“What?” Reed’s eyebrows went up. 

Marcos stumbled. “Oh, sh- did she not tell you?” He wanted to be a lot of things to the Struckers; a problem between them was not one of those things.

“About?”

“I, uh, I stayed the night. While you were gone on the trip to get Ramona. Nothing happened,” he felt compelled to add.

Reed grinned. “Oh, that. She did tell me. Thanks for keeping her company.” He clapped Marcos on the shoulder.

An entirely more positive response that Marcos had expected. _Thanks for keeping her company._ Wasn’t Reed supposed to be pissed or something?

“Um. Yeah. No problem,” he stammered, wondering how the hell he got this lucky.

Ramona traipsed out in her pajamas, the bottoms too small and the top too big. She gave Marcos a knowing look. “It's your turn, dumbass.”

Marcos was glad she said it in Spanish, because if Reed had understood her, he would’ve given her a fatherly lecture about respecting your elders and not swearing because she’s eleven or something, and then he probably would’ve asked why Ramona called Marcos a dumbass. 

Marcos, on the other hand, knew why she did it, and all he did was give a single admonishment: “Watch your mouth.”

She grinned cheekily and Marcos reflected again that kids were very much a handful and he had no idea what he was going to do about the baby on the way.

He got ready and settled into the bed before Reed got back from changing, having packed only a pair of pants yet being overwhelmed by feelings of embarrassed modesty. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He felt as though he might burst.

Reed walked out of the bathroom, also only wearing pants. Marcos tried not to stare but failed utterly; he’d never actually seen Reed shirtless and his more primal brain didn’t want to waste that opportunity.

Reed smiled at him tiredly. “Tomorrow morning, huh?” he asked, flipping the light switch and climbing into bed. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Marcos agreed, wondering how he would ever drift off with the hyper-awareness of Reed just inches away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best part of poly fics: double the lovers, double the bed sharing tropes. I do so love children and drama and road trips and trying to not be in love with someone.   
> I dunno if I'm gonna manage to get an even posting rate because life, so I may post the last two or three chapters all at once. Or maybe not, we'll see.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mild flirting, some cuddles, and some news.

Marcos woke up slowly, curling in tighter around the other body. He didn’t want to get up; the sun was too bright and it was definitely later than he intended it to be but he was so comfortable.

“Marcos,” Reed said quietly. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but your…‘morning wood’ is practically _in_ my ass.”

Marcos pulled back quickly, feeling his body heat up ridiculously. On some other planet, his brain was mocking him for finding the way Reed phrased the situation kind of attractive. But on this planet, Marcos was struggling not to burst into flames, which sometimes seemed like a very literal possibility, and to remember how to breath.

“I’m sorry, oh my god, I’m so-” he found himself stumbling through apology after apology, but the look on Reed’s face was only affectionate amusement.

“I never said that was a bad thing,” Reed said, smiling coyly, and Marcos’ jaw dropped. He was _flirting._ Any other thing Reed had said, he’d have been able to play off. But you don’t…

It was flirting. Marcos was sure of it. Probably.

“I know what all of those words mean,” Ramona declared, loudly and carefully, making sure to speak English so both men would know what she had said. 

Marcos felt himself ready to die all over again. He was also really curious how an eleven-year-old Mexican girl knew and understood the words ‘morning wood,’ and he wondered if Lauren had taught her.

He really hoped not.

“Right. Sorry, everyone, I will now remove myself from this situation…” Marcos groaned. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Make sure it’s cold,” Ramona snarked in Spanish and Marcos wondered again how an eleven-year-old knew about these kinds of things. Parenthood suddenly looked a hell of a lot more worrying.

He took her advice though, because he knew she was right, and tried to get rid of all thoughts of everything, and the timbre of Reed’s voice, the way he _flirted_...he hadn’t meant anything by it, though, Marcos was sure, just a joke between friends.

The thought was not convincing.

_Finish the mission, finish the mission,_ he told himself. _Then you can worry about your ridiculous crush on a married man._

And his wife.

He groaned, tilting his head back and letting the cold water course over his face. It made it hard to breathe, but it was a relief just to feel it. Tangible. Indisputable. 

It was just the shock his system needed. He felt awake and ready to go when he stepped out of the shower, pulling on the nice clothes he had packed and combing his hair. The button up was a little more worn than he’d like, but it didn’t matter too much; he straightened out the collar and the rolled short sleeves and decided it was good enough.

“It’s your turn,” he informed Reed, trying not to look at the other man after he exited the bathroom. He could feel both of them staring at him, but he simply flopped down on the bed and took out his flip phone to check for updates from John. 

There were no updates. He only relaxed when he heard the shower turn on and Reed step into the shower.

“Why aren’t you happy?” Ramona asked quietly. 

Marcos startled. “What?”

“He likes you. You wanted that. Why doesn’t that make you happy?”

Marcos paused to consider. “Because I don’t know if I believe that, but if it’s true, it makes everything a lot more complicated than before.”

Ramona nodded, then shrugged. “Good luck, I guess.”

“Are you excited?” he asked, changing the subject. 

She considered. “Still scared. But a little excited.” She fidgeted with her sheets. “I like girls,” she said suddenly. “And I worry she won’t like that either. That she won’t - understand. Not like you do.”

Marcos snorted. “Hon, I researched your aunt, and I’d be willing to bet she won’t care at all.” Was Marcos able to tell if someone was gay just based on a picture? No, that was a mutant power he only wished he had. But she gave him some strong bi vibes and he was certain it’d be ok.

“You promise?”

He shook his head, rolling over to ruffle her hair. “I can’t promise. But I think I’m right, and if I’m not, you know where to find me.”

“Ok.” She got up and sat down on the bed next to him. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Me too, little one,” he replied. “God, me too.” He pulled her into a hug and they snuggled for a little while, trying not to think about how it might be the last time.

Reed emerged from the bathroom shirtless and gave them a warm smile. “May I join?” he asked, pulling on a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t the fanciest, but he looked nice, and Marcos appreciated it.

“Yes.” Ramona was agreeing, but it sounded more like a demand. She reached out a hand and opened and closed her fist, gesturing Reed closer, until he was snuggled up on her other side. His hand rested on Marcos’ arm, and Ramona looked up to wink at Marcos, very unsubtly.

He felt like melting into the bed again, but this was too nice to give up.

All too soon, it was time to go, and Ramona quickly threw on a t-shirt and shorts before they checked out of the room. She wasn’t as well groomed as the adults, but she wasn’t the one trying to make a good impression. She was allowed to simply be a child, for one of the rare moments in her life. 

Her hair had dried in messy half-flat curls from sleeping on it wet, but Marcos pulled it back into the hat and it didn’t matter. He relished the feeling of domesticity it gave him.

The plan was simple, and repeating it helped: Reed and Marcos would knock on her aunt’s door and make a proposal. If she accepted, they’d bring Ramona inside. If not…

She’d accept. She had to.

Marcos drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel, taking over since Reed had done all the driving the night before.

They drove slowly and carefully, because it would be a terrible thing to be caught this close to success. Thus, it took Marcos about twenty-five minutes to reach Rita Fuentes’ rather large and attractive house. 

He raised an eyebrow. There was definitely room for a child in there. 

Marcos pulled into the driveway and threw the car into park. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Reed. “Shall we?” he asked.

Reed nodded. They gave Ramona a reassuring smile, and then they locked her in the car for safety and headed to the front door.

Another deep breath. The windows around the door were filled with white lace curtains, giving them no indication what lay on the other side, inside the house. The door itself was painted a deep navy blue and had a gold-colored handle. At about eye level was a seasonally-appropriate wreath. 

Marcos wondered what it would be like to live a life where he could own a seasonally-appropriate wreath. 

Reed reached over to squeeze his hand reassuringly and he startled. Nodding once, he reached out and rang the doorbell. 

It seemed like they waited an agonizingly long time, but it really couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes before a small Mexican woman opened the door. “I didn’t think this neighborhood allowed solicitors,” she said, raising an eyebrow at them. “Or is this about the campaign?”

“Neither, actually,” Marcos began. “My name is Marcos, and this is Reed. We found your niece.” It technically was what had happened, though the reality felt much heavier. 

She blinked at them, not quite comprehending. “I’m sorry?”

“Your brother’s daughter, Ramona Alvarez,” Marcos repeated. “Her parents were killed not long after crossing the border. Ramona survived.”

Rita rubbed at her eyes furiously. “Oh my,” she said weakly. “I…I haven’t seen my brother in years. God, it must be eight years since I immigrated? And you’re saying he’s...dead.” She sagged heavily against her doorframe. 

Reed offered her a steadying arm, but she lightly pushed him away. After a moment, she collected herself. “You said Ramona is alive.”

Marcos nodded. “She’s alive. We were hoping we could resettle her with you. But...she isn’t exactly as you remember.”

“I can handle trauma,” Rita replied. 

“She’s a mutant.” It was Reed who spoke, before Marcos could. “But it’s okay, she’s perfectly healthy and happy. She’s been staying with us, the Mutant Underground, for awhile during the time we tried to locate you.”

Marcos wasn’t convinced that revealing all that information was a good idea, but it was not as though he could snatch it back out of the air. 

“A mutant,” she repeated, and Marcos could see the light leave her eyes all over again. “Oh my. I - I can’t.” She shook her head once, sharply. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have an election to think about, and my husband just passed away a few months ago, and I don’t have time for a child, let alone a mutant child.” She shook her head again. “It’s not that I don’t support mutants, I just...I can’t _physically_ support this one. Not while I’m trying to win a seat in the House.”

Marcos pasted on a very fake smile. “I understand,” he lied. “We won’t bother you further.” He turned to go, not waiting to see if Reed was ready to follow. 

“Wait,” she called out. “Can I...just see her? Once?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marcos replied without looking. “Good luck with the campaign.” 

He slid into the car. Ramona didn’t even have to ask how it went. She let out one strangled but dignified sob and then burst into tears. Reed sat down in the back seat, having walked a bit behind Marcos, and put his arm around her. 

Marcos pulled the car out of the driveway. He dialed his phone with one hand, and with gritted teeth, he said, “John, there’s been a change of plans. We’re coming back, but we’ll be pretty late.” He waited for an affirmative, and then hung up.

“What’s the plan?” Reed asked, fastening his seatbelt.

Marcos kept his eyes glued to the road. “We are going to have some fun to make up for...this.” He waved one hand in an all encompassing circle. “Our trip will not have been a waste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ramona. It's a good thing she has Marcos and Reed to take care of her.   
> The two dads. The two super oblivious dads. Silly Marcos, just say you love them. (Then again, what fun would that be?)  
> We're winding down! Definitely approaching a resolution. Or rather, three resolutions, one by one by one. Stay tuned!  
> I always love your thoughts. Comments and Kudos and Bookmarks give me life!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making up for the disappointment.

“Forsyth Park,” suggested the Gas Station attendant when Reed asked where to take his young daughter. “City Market. Those are some good places for kiddos.” The man chomped on a cigarette. “There are other things, but the Little Lady looks like she would get mighty bored on an architecture tour.”

Ramona nodded politely, a distant look in her eyes, though Marcos wasn’t sure if she was misunderstanding or simply not comfortable around the man, who stank of beer and the cigarette he was using to cover his counter with ash. Sometimes she seemed to understand every word of English someone said, but others she looked like she was drowning in a strange land.

Marcos supposed it had been like that for him at first, too. And sometimes, it still did.

They thanked the man and left the convenience store quickly, Reed and Ramona first and then Marcos a short time after. It seemed prudent to avoid undue attention when they could, especially with the big poster for Ronald Jackson hanging on an overcrowded bulletin board. Though so far, blessedly, their trip had gone smoothly.

First, they went to the City Market, watching Ramona’s wide-eyed wonder at all the colors of the rainbow displayed before her. Reed smiled easily, and Marcos smiled too, but a small voice in the back of his head made a snide remark about whether the goods were produced and picked ethically. He hoped so.

There was a small shop off in a corner where an old Guatemalan woman sold fresh-made tamales at a bargain price. Marcos bought several chicken and tomato tamales - _tamales colorado,_ the sign called them - and a couple sweet tamales, thanking her warmly in Spanish. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at him, replying in kind to tell him his daughter was beautiful.

Ramona blushed and thanked her meekly. For the first time, Marcos began to wonder how old he must look for it to be believable he had a pre-teen child. Though he supposed a bunch of people were assuming Reed was his partner, which really changed the whole situation’s  
appearance.

He wondered what these strangers thought his life was like.

They wandered the stalls, looking at hand-spun yarn and home-brew honey in fun flavors like Lavender or Sage. Seeing the jar made him think unbidden of his former friend Sage, the way she always claimed to loathe sweets and the way she’d used to bug him to make something spicy, then report out to him the amount of Scovilles in the meal after she’d tasted it.

He missed his friends dearly. It was hard, remembering he couldn’t go home and tell her he thought of her that day.

The three bought fresh squeezed lemonade and then headed over to Forsyth Park for something like a picnic. Marcos set the bag with the tamales in the grass, and they all dug in.

“These don’t taste like my mother used to make,” Ramona commented. “But they’re still good.” She took a long swallow of the lemonade, savoring it.

“Regional differences,” Marcos replied.

Reed was savoring each bite slowly. “These are delicious,” he said, and Marcos realized just how long it had been since any of them had tasted freshly cooked food. Or had even a chance to unwind.

He lay back in the grass, head resting right next to Reed’s thigh, and pointed at the tree leaves. “It’s pretty.”

Reed nodded, lacing his fingers through Marcos’ hair. “Beautiful.”

Ramona leaned her head back onto Marcos’ chest. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You are so kind.”

“Of course, darling.” Marcos gave her a one-armed hug. “I love you lots.”

“I love you too.” She sighed a sigh that was far too old for her age, full of loss but also hope. “When do we go home?”

‘Home.’ She meant the Mutant Underground Headquarters, which had become her home in just a few short weeks, and not her aunt’s house, which was lost to her. He wondered if she hoped for a miracle. In spite of the fact he wanted to keep her, he knew he did.

“Tonight,” he replied simply, not giving voice to any of his thoughts. “We deserve a day of fun, though.”

She nodded, then hopped up onto her feet. “Want to race?” she asked Reed, who gladly agreed.

“I’ll have you know I was a star runner for track and field when I was in high school,” he joked, but Ramona looked unimpressed.

“How long ago was that?” she asked flatly, and while it held no malice, Marcos was doubled over laughing at the pained look on Reed’s face.

“I’m not _that_ old,” he complained, and then took off running.

“No fair!” Ramona crowed, but she was off like a rocket after him, doing her best to catch up.

Marcos watched them, amused. At first it seemed like Reed was seriously offended over her age joke and was going all out, but slowly, Ramona began to catch up with him, and Marcos realized the game he was playing. They ran around the perimeter, neck in neck, sometimes with Reed pulling ahead, other times Ramona. As they neared Marcos, to finish their lap, Ramona gave one last push and collapsed on top of him in a heap.

“I win,” she declared, staring up at Reed. “But you did good.”

“Well,” Reed corrected absently.

“You knew what I mean.” She glared. “I changed my mind. You did not do good.” Then she blew him a raspberry, and he blew one back at her, and the two of them dissolved into giggles, though Reed appeared to be in a little bit of pain - maybe from his intense exertion.

This was a good life. Suddenly, Marcos could picture an entire future for them. Caitlin and Lauren would continue teaching Ramona English, alongside math, science, history, and anything else Caitlin deemed important. They’d eat dinners together, and Ramona could sleep in his room, and play with Zingo. She’d grow up with them; as Lauren became a young woman, Ramona would become a teenager, and then follow.

And she could rarely go outside, or have nice things, or time and space to play, and when the time came, she’d be trained to fight. The Hellfire club might try to recruit her. She’d learn to help run their way station. The ridiculous war none of them had asked for would become her life.

Lorna had been right. This was no life for a child.

Not that the life she’d chosen was necessarily any better.

But he would do his best. And a kid with three parents - or two parents and whatever the hell Marcos ended up being - or something - he shook his head, really not wanting to think about that right now. The point was, with Marcos, Caitlin, and Reed working together, the kid couldn’t be too bad off at all.

Reed was giving Ramona piggyback rides all over the open grass area, and Marcos was amused. He was just about to get up and join them when his phone rang.

His blood ran cold. _Please, God, not Carmen._

“Hello?” he answered apprehensively.

“Is this Marcos?” the woman on the other end asked.

“Who is this?” he replied.

“It’s Rita Fuentes. Is this Marcos?” she asked again.

“Yes, it’s Marcos. How did you get this number?” he hissed, eyeing Ramona and Reed a distance away. All of a sudden, his brain was in defensive mode and he was calculating how best to get the hell out of there, just in case Rita had turned them in.

“Your friend gave me your number, in case I changed my mind.” _Dammit, Reed._ “I made a mistake,” she said, and her voice broke. “Please, bring her back.”

“Are you in danger?” Marcos demanded. Maybe Sentinel Services was at her door. Maybe they hadn’t been nearly as careful as they’d thought.

“What? No.” She took a deep breath. “I mean that me rejecting my own family was a selfish mistake. No election matters more than my niece.”

Marcos bit back a variety of snarky responses and simply said, “I see.”

“I’d like to adopt Ramona if you’ll let me take her,” Rita replied. “I’ll even come meet you wherever you are.”

“No.” Marcos gave a heavy sigh. He didn’t want to lose Ramona, had come so close to having her in his life for good, but he knew this was what was best. “We’ll bring her to you. See you soon.”

He hung up. With a tired sigh, he pushed himself up off the ground and hurried over to where Reed and Ramona were playing.

“Your aunt called,” he told Ramona, careful not to look at Reed. They’d have a conversation about that later. “We’re taking you home.”

“Home,” she repeated doubtfully, but she also seemed cautiously optimistic. “Okay.”

It was funny, the way ‘home’ could mean so many things. It could be the Mutant Underground, no matter what building they found themselves in - it could be John and Lorna and Sonya and Sage, and then Clarice and Lauren and Andy and Caitlin and Reed, and then some splintered rearranging of all of those people - it could be the house of the aunt Ramona hadn’t seen since she was four years old.

It could be simple hope for a better day tomorrow.

After a quick call to John to update him again, they were on their way. They drove quietly, and Marcos tried not to be pissed at Reed or sad about Ramona or worried about Carmen’s calls. When they arrived at Rita’s house, she was standing on the doorstep, fidgeting nervously with the edges of her shawl.

Her eyes lit up hopefully when the car pulled into her driveway, starting down the path to meet them.

Ramona got out of the car, nervously clutching Marcos’ hand with ridiculous amounts of strength for a small child. Idly, he thought that perhaps she could give John a run for his money.

“Hi,” she whispered to her aunt shyly. She didn’t walk forward, but she didn’t have to, because Rita was down on her knees, throwing her arms around her niece and chattering away excitedly in Spanish about how much she’d missed the girl and how her green hair was _so pretty_ and maybe Rita would dye her hair to match, wouldn’t that be something?

Ramona began to smile, and the happy relief traveled through her like a leaf opening up to absorb the sunlight. Marcos could see it unfurling from her very core, the way she stretched out a little and accepted the hug, even as she never let go of his hand.

“Come inside,” Rita suggested to the adults, standing up and dusting off her dark denim jeans.

“We really should be going,” Marcos said, reluctant to prolong the difficult moment. It was always easier to just...rip off the bandaid. Kiss her goodbye and be on the road. Not look back, and trust that she was in excellent hands.

It’s how he should’ve handled Carmen the first time, left in the middle of the night and gone far, far away instead of turning in his resignation to her father like it was a reputable business he could just walk away from. Now here he was almost four years later, getting pulled back over and over, dragged around like a toy on a string.

“Really, I insist,” Rita said, and smiled so warmly and lovingly at Ramona and then Reed and then finally Marcos that he felt himself relenting.

The final straw was when Ramona looked up at him, all big brown eyes that he might never see again, and asked “Please?” in her shyest voice.

“Yeah, ok,” he mumbled around the lump in his throat, and Reed clapped a hand on his shoulder in support, giving a squeeze as they walked inside.

Rita Fuentes’ house looked exactly as one would expect on the inside. It had art that was far too expensive for Marcos to fathom owning, a perfect color scheme, and delicately thoughtful finishing touches. But it also felt like a home the minute you got past the sitting room - though no less stylish, the furniture here was older, more worn. It showed signs of life.

“This house is too big for me,” she sighed. “My husband - we always wanted children, to fill the house with laughter, but it never happened. And then he was gone.” She sighed, but pulled Ramona in for a hug. “Now I see the universe has other plans for me,” she added, offering a tired smile.

She made up a plate of cheese, meats, and crackers for her guests and poured them all glasses of water. Then she chatted with them idly about life, how she was excited to make up a bedroom for Ramona and decorate it together, the election, her policies and beliefs - the woman had so many things to say, and Marcos met her word for word, somehow, relieved that he had some lightness to take his mind off of things. Reed chimed in occasionally, but mostly he seemed to be enjoying the moment, though Marcos also noticed a pained expression on his face when he glanced over.

He knew eventually he would have to deliver a sales pitch for her donating something for their cause. But he felt oddly guilty about it; he’d always considered himself above begging. Still, it felt like that’s all they could do these days.

“So. Enough about me. How can I help you?” Rita asked, and Marcos realized maybe they wouldn’t have to beg at all. “You’ve heard my policies. Are they practical? Do they benefit mutants? Remember, I’m trying not to be too radical but also to get real changes made. But what do you feel is necessary?”

“Dismantle Sentinel Services,” Marcos suggested dryly, and she winced. “No, I know. Honestly, two of the biggest things are that they’ve been taking law-abiding mutants from their home, and there have been government-sanctioned experiments on mutants, bordering on Eugenics. If you can lead the charge against that, that’d be great.”

“My god.” Rita pressed a hand over her mouth. “Experimentation - That isn’t right. That isn’t right _at all.”_ Her hands twitched like the was itching to write that down, but instead she took out her phone and made a couple notes that way. “I’m pretty sure ‘No Human Experimentation’ is a pretty easy stance to sell.”

“Good luck convincing people we’re human,” Marcos laughed humorlessly.

She grinned at him, though, and he could see the steel in her spine. “That’s my job, honey. That’s what I do.”

He admired that.

“And you need always need money, I’m sure?” Rita asked, but it was definitely rhetorical. “I can’t write a check for obvious reasons, but I always keep a stash of cash around for precisely this kind of occasion. One moment.”

She disappeared up the stairs, and Marcos wondered ‘this kind of occasion’ meant. He wondered what she would offer them. Anything she could give would be enough, really, and he didn’t want to sound greedy, but they were on hard times these days. What the Underground needed was a miracle.

“I like her,” Ramona said after a moment. “I think...I think I’ll be happy here.”

“I think so too, love,” Marcos replied, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“Will you visit?” she asked quietly.

There were a lot of answers to that question. A lot of excuses. Marcos settled on “If I can,” because he wanted to, really he did, but this was a decision that wasn’t up to him.

“We’ll do our best, sweetheart,” Reed said, ruffling her hair, and Marcos wondered if he was imagining the strain in Reed’s voice. Like the man was barely holding himself together on a physical level.

Rita came floating down the stairs, holding several rolls of cash. “Each roll is about two hundred dollars,” she informed them, holding out nine in total. “It’s all I had on hand, or else I would absolutely have given more.”

Marcos felt like his heart was going to leap out of his throat, and he leaned heavily against the counter. “This is - fantastic,” he choked out. “Thank you so much.” He wondered why she just had nearly two thousand in cash lying around, and whether she’d done something like this before.

“It’s the least I could do for the men who took care of my niece for so long.” She gave Ramona another big hug. “I wish you two the best of luck and happiness.”

Marcos and Reed shoved the cash into their pockets. Then came the long and arduous process of saying goodbye to Ramona.

“You should delete my number,” Marcos suggested, though he didn’t especially want her to. But she nodded and cleared it from her phone, then showed him to ease his mind.

She held out a business card with her number on it. “Call me if you ever need anything. Or if you just want to know how Ramona’s doing. Or if you have any complaints about my position as representative.”

He liked the way she grinned with easy confidence, like she knew she’d win the race, no doubt. She seemed so different from the nervous, fluttery woman this morning who swore she couldn’t take a mutant child.

“Of course.” He tucked the business card in his pocket, swallowing hard.

“Be safe,” Ramona demanded, and then hugged him and Reed hard.

It was all Marcos could do not to cry right there.

They bid the little family farewell and climbed back into the car. Reed looked to be in no state to drive, so Marcos took the wheel, swallowing thickly again. They drove in silence for awhile, Marcos letting the tears dribble and Reed leaning against the window with his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He didn’t have the heart to yell at Reed for recklessly giving out their number, which could have gotten them all killed or worse. Not after the events of that afternoon.

At some point when they got onto the highway, Reed had taken his right hand and was now squeezing it half to death, but Marcos didn’t mind one bit. He appreciated the reassurance. It just felt natural. Right.

And he couldn’t deny that he loved the feeling of the ring he’d bought Reed pressing into his palm.

“Are you doing okay, man?” he asked Reed after about an hour, when the man’s palms were getting way hotter than a normal human’s.

He risked a glance away from the road, for just a minute, and saw a flicker of red dancing across the man’s wrists. Then it was gone again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Reed lied, and Marcos could tell it was a lie, which stung. Still, he let it be. “I’m just...I’m sad about Ramona.” His voice broke. “I know we did the right thing, but I miss her already. I liked...feeling useful again. Feeling like a Dad again. My little girl’s all grown up, my son went out and joined a terrorist cell - it’s hard to adjust to. And then this little girl was here and she loved me -” He broke off again. “I felt like a good father, for once. And I liked the way she brought us together.”

“Hey, man, we’re friends in our own right, yeah?” Marcos told him, squeezing Reed’s hand. They were friends, and maybe even something more. He thought back to that morning, which already seemed like ages ago, waking up curled around Reed. “I’m not just going to duck out now that the kid we were kind of raising together is gone.”

“That’s good,” Reed said, and then he was crying, quietly and with great dignity, the way Marcos hadn’t seen him do since the night Andy left.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Marcos said quietly. “You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” Reed replied, shuddering lightly. “I really appreciate that.”

He cried for another ten minutes, softly, and Marcos let him go, simply squeezing his hand reassuringly every once in awhile. After about an hour, he stopped looking so pained, and his hands cooled down; not too long after that, he fell asleep.

Marcos couldn’t help but feel that maybe things would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends one of our three arcs, with a lovely little happy ending. We wish our little girl all the best.  
> Also, can you spot the heavy foreshadowing in this chapter? ;)  
> Some more quality Reed/Marcos Bonding for sure.  
> The final two chapters spiralled wildly out of control and it looks like they'll be the final _three_ chapters. If everything goes according to plan with writing and with school, it should be done in time for the premiere, but it'll be on the will of the universe. I'll do my best!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcos gets an offer he can't refuse.

It had been so hard to sleep after that trip to Savannah. Marcos woke up in the middle of the night often, craving warmth, craving bodies. In his loneliest hours, he’d thought about simply going over and crawling into bed with the Struckers, consequences be damned.

He never did, of course. But he thought about it.

He missed Ramona dearly, and a couple days after dropping her off, he made his way to a pay phone the next town over and called her aunt, just to ask how things were. It was a little reckless, maybe, but it was worth it to hear Ramona’s voice on the other end, chattering away about how she was happy and how they’d gone to the University of Georgia Aquarium and how her aunt had helped her dye her hair brown to be less conspicuous. 

Over a dinner of Mac n Cheese, cooked on their Rita-Fuentes-funded camp stove, Marcos relayed the news to Lauren, Reed, and Caitlin.

He hadn’t seen much of them over the past couple days, but the “family dinners” - as Caitlin called them and insisted on having every night - had been a constant. Lauren gave him knowing looks and occasionally kicked his shins under the table, and he swatted back at her and wondered what, if anything, Reed had relayed to his family about their adventure when Marcos wasn’t there to hear it.

He didn’t have to wonder when Lauren cornered him after dinner.

“Dad told us _everything_ ,” she informed him delightedly, and Marcos wondered idly if the earth could swallow him whole.

“Did he?” Marcos asked evenly, heading back towards his room. 

Lauren followed along like a cat with a dead mouse, eager to present to him the news of his embarrassment. “Okay, well, he told Mom everything when he thought I wasn’t awake to hear it, but I caught most of what he said, and it sounds like things were getting kind of _flirty_.” She said it all sing-song, and Marcos was acutely aware of the fact she hadn’t ever finished her senior year. She was just a child, really. A child with way too much responsibility and way too much pain.

He snorted. “Yeah? And did your mother say you still had to accept me into the family because I’m sad and lonely and your brother ran off with my girlfriend? With pursed lips and disappointment?” He tried not to sound too bitter at her. None of this whole… _situation_ was Lauren’s fault.

He couldn’t imagine Caitlin would be too happy to hear about her husband making eyes at the guy that was maybe possibly her best friend here. Even if he hadn’t been imagining his chemistry with her, she was still married, and that probably meant “No Marcos Allowed.” 

One could have chemistry with a friend. Never had to act on it. Never had to...make it weird, or whatever.

The only polyamorous folks he’d ever known were an unmarried couple of high school sweethearts The Underground had helped relocate back in the day. When they’d explained their relationship to him, Marcos had felt something click inside his heart, but he’d been able to ignore it. Until now, anyway.

Lauren rolled her eyes at him. “No, dumbass, she said that it was great for him and she _smiled_.” She said this as though he should’ve expected it, as though he was ridiculous for thinking her mother would have been anything less than thrilled.

He didn’t exactly know what to make of that.

Luckily for him, his phone rang, and he didn’t have to make anything of it. But when he answered his phone, his blood turned to ice, because it was no windfall at all.

“Marcos,” the voice trilled, drawing out the ‘a’ in his name. “I have a _big_ job for you.”

He glanced furtively at Lauren, pressed one finger to his lips, and prayed she’d understand. No matter how many eyes and ears Carmen had, she could never know just what he was doing in this moment, and he appreciated that. 

“What do you want?” he asked, feeling the usual foreboding creep back at him.

“I heard you got rid of your newest little pet,” Carmen teased, ignoring his question. She’d answer in her own sweet time, like she always did. “Which means you’re all alone again, since Magnet Girl’s run out on you. I always said she would, didn’t I?”

Carmen _had_ said that, repeatedly, whenever Marcos saw her after he’d told her dad he was quitting the Cartel. It hadn’t happened the way Carmen had told him it would, that Lorna would get sick of his worthless gutter-trash ass and leave him for some prettier white boy, that Carmen was the only one who could truly appreciate someone like him. But then, details like that never dissuaded her from believing she was right.

“I’m not alone,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I have friends.”

“Oh, yes, I heard you’ve taken quite an interest in _Mommy_ and _Daddy_ , and their little girl, too.” Her voice dripped with contempt and she cackled wickedly as a disgusted shiver swept through Marcos. He never wanted to think about them quite like that ever again. “Maybe it has something to do with the way Magnet Girl left with their son, hm? Or maybe loneliness has simply made you… _promiscuous._ ”

He tried so hard to ignore that last part, to keep his voice even. She was taunting him. She wanted to have the upper hand always, conversationally as much as situationally. Nevermind she somehow always picked out his insecurities.

He wouldn’t allow her that small satisfaction, though he hadn’t quite managed to get back the upper hand in his own life. “The _entire_ Mutant Underground is my family.”

“Then I’m sure the fact I have Sentinel Services on speed dial will be very important to you.”

Just like that, she showed her cards, and Marcos knew she meant full well to use them. “What do you want?” he sighed.

“Bring me the Strucker girl in the next hour, or I call the government on all of your little friends. Not just in Atlanta, not just in Nashville. Everywhere.”

It was a bluff. It had to be a bluff. 

But Marcos was less than willing to take the chance, because if anyone would do it, it was Carmen.

“You’ve already been so disappointing these days. So don’t disappoint me now, Marcos. I don’t want to do something you might regret.” Carmen hung up without even waiting for an answer. Frustrated, he tucked his phone away. 

Marcos closed his eyes, pressed his hands to his face, and thought. If he brought her, he handed her over, God only knew what would happen to Lauren, what Carmen had in store. But if he didn’t, and Carmen was serious about the Sentinel Services, then he was calling a horde of evil down into their home, a small ramshackle building stuffed way past capacity with wounded and weary mutants. 

He heard a toddler crying, off in the distance.

“Lauren,” he began carefully. “Would you like to run a mission?”

“I’m down,” she replied immediately, and his heart swelled with both love and perturbation at the complete lack of hesitation in her tone. “Who was that on the phone?”

“I’ll explain in the car.” He started towards the door. “We need to leave _now._ ”

Her brow creased but she hurried after him. “Okay? Are we in danger?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly, weaving through the hallways. It was dark, and a lot of people had already gone to sleep - plus Marcos knew all the back ways to avoid people in the Underground, even in this new building. Still in the distance, he heard crying.

He quickened his pace.

The night air was wet and heavy, dark clouds blotting out the stars and only the barest sliver of moon shining through. It wasn’t raining yet, but the threat was there, and the charged atmosphere suggested lightning was coming too.

Lauren shivered, pulling herself up into the passenger seat of the truck. “So what’s the danger?” she asked as Marcos turned on the engine and pulled onto the dirt road out to civilization. 

Haltingly, he explained to her the story of his past, stopping and starting as he went. Sometimes he would leave stretches of silence, and she didn’t bother to fill them for him, which he appreciated. 

He decided it was best to start at the beginning, with something almost happy, so he set the scene on the streets of his hometown in Colombia, running around with his siblings; the way his mother used to daydream about the United States, and how his father liked to drink but never on Sundays and taught Marcos to do the same, to live an honest life and to be ready to take over the family business. 

He talked about the church he used to attend, the way his mother used to dress all nice and talk to all the ladies, and how she’d clean up his siblings real nice and Marcos would help. How he had to sit in that church and listen to the sermons about loving your neighbor and doing good work, but also the anti-mutant sermons, and how he had fully _believed_ in them, all of them, ate them up with the same appetite his parents did. 

He told her about _the incident,_ the moment that changed his life, when his parents saw his light and instead of thinking of it as a gift from divinity, they exiled him. Kicked out of his own house so young, barely thirteen, he picked his way through the streets and slowly, slowly, up to the United States.

It really wasn’t anything like his mother had thought, he told Lauren, choking. 

They drove in silence for awhile after that, and at some point, her hand found its way to his and she squeezed. Rain began to fall, fat and heavy against the windshield, and he clicked the wipers on and then wiped his own face.

“So I was lost and alone and depressed and young and - I got caught up in a cartel.” He looked away, not willing to see the reproach in her eyes; he’d seen how her family reacted to Wes over some petty thievery.

“It happens, sometimes,” Lauren offered with a rueful smile - okay, he had looked, he had needed to know what she was thinking, and relief flooded his system.

“Yeah,” he replied, because she was right, but she probably didn’t realize just how correct she was. Lauren Strucker had faced her own hardships, but she didn’t know what it was like to be an exiled Mutant out on the streets.

Wes had his gang of thieves, Clarice had the Brotherhood (which she had confessed defiantly to Marcos one day and been utterly delighted when he basically shrugged in response), and he had the Cartel.

He recounted all of what’d gone down as best he could, up until three years ago when John and Lorna had found him.

_“Get a new girlfriend,”_ Lorna had suggested. He wondered if she would mean that now, too.

Telling Lauren about being drawn back into the Cartel for Lorna brought up all sorts of emotions, and he felt himself choking up again. He was so filled with regret for everything that’d happened since that point, every ridiculous awful fight and betrayal and job he’d found himself in. 

But if he had to go back, he’d do it all again. It was just an unfortunate fact of life that sometimes, the worst decision was the only decision. 

“So what’re we gonna do?” Lauren asked when he’d finished his story. “I assume you didn’t intend to just hand me over and let me figure it out.”

She meant it as a joke, but the thought still filled him with horror and he shook his head violently. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I just...I need this to be over. We’re going to stop her.”

“Yeah, of course. Okay.” Lauren nodded, giving it some thought. “If we destroy her base of operations, that’d shut her down for awhile, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Marcos swallowed thickly. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. “Yeah. I can burn some stuff, probably.”

“I’ll put up shields and make sure no one bothers you.” Lauren had that look of determination on her face that made her look just like her mother. “I mean, I could even probably try to direct the fire? If I can push the air around…”

They talked strategy to take their mind off of the sheer anxiety of the impending battle. Marcos didn’t see a single way for things to turn out well, and realized he maybe should’ve mentioned something to John before he left, but he’d always had a habit of running off to try to solve his problems on his own.

Unbidden, the memory of first meeting the Struckers came to mind. When Lauren and Andy were just two kids who’d made mistakes, when their parents were just strangers. 

He remembered sitting in the bar across from Reed, feeling something barely short of hatred. He remembered all four of them climbing out of the battered old car they’d had, Lauren’s wildly impractical hoop earrings gleaming in the artificial light. He remembered how Caitlin had sharply demanded his answers, how he found it vexing and kind of attractive and reminiscent of Lorna, all at once.

He remembered how the only reason they hadn’t all died that night was because Clarice hadn’t let him go off alone.

Unfortunately, no one knew they were gone now. No one could come to their rescue. Icy dread settled in Marcos’ stomach, but he tried to stay optimistic. Lauren was a powerful mutant - she’d been practicing pushing together materials other than just air. And he was powerful in his own right, too. They’d handle it.

The headlights cast dim beams onto the open road, just barely illuminating the open spaces and tall grass off to the side of the highway, and Marcos wished they could be in a city, somewhere like Chicago or Baltimore. Somewhere farther north, where the Sentinels would never look for them and Carmen couldn’t reach him.

“When this is all over,” he told Lauren absently, “I’m buying an apartment in a city and I’m having family dinners all the time and I’ll be alone only when I want to be.”

“I want to go to college,” she replied. “I had already applied to UGA and Emory but the whole ‘Andy destroyed our high school’ thing happened before I heard whether I was accepted or not.”

“What are you going to study?” Marcos asked. Education had never really been much in his life; he’d learned most of the academic skills he possessed through his work with the cartel. Carmen’s dad had thought balancing the accounts was a good way to teach his “adopted son” algebra.

“I was thinking nursing. Like mom.” She smiled shyly. “Or public health, with a focus on Mutant care.”

“That’s real cool,” Marcos complimented. He thought of all the times he’d been refused medical care; thought of the time he went to the clinic with Caitlin. How different it all might have been if people who cared about mutants worked in public health. In any field, really.

Again, they lapsed into apprehensive silence. They were close, and they still didn’t necessarily have a solid plan, but neither of them wanted to talk about it anymore.

The rain fell harder. As the windshield wipers swiped desperately back and forth, unable to keep up, they made awful whining noises that truly resonated with Marcos’ soul. The headlights found the gate to Carmen’s house: it was already open, and twisted as though some angry god had taken it into their careless hands and pulled a bit too hard.

Marcos’ heart began to beat in his throat. He knew one woman who could do something like that. 

“I don’t think we’re alone,” he told Lauren. 

It seemed as though their original plan would be useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, folks. Just two more chapters to go. I'm almost certain I'll have both posted before the premiere next week, but send me your good vibes to spur me on.  
> I just noticed how much of this story takes place on the road. There's a lot of driving around, Marcos alone, Marcos and Reed, Marcos and Lauren. Maybe it's because it's easier to talk in a car - something about the privacy, the closed-off nature. The way it's transitory.  
> Anyway, get excited for the next little bit. If y'all want to make predictions in the comments, I'd be super excited to hear them!   
> See ya soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team-up of the century, with a healthy side-dish of traumatic events.  
> (Chapter warnings: Violence, blood, death but not of anyone we love in this fic)

She’d fashioned some of the iron bars from the gate into some sort of goth umbrella, and her fingers glowed as she held it over where she sat on the trunk of the car, and over Andy, looking sulky and sallow. Her hair was longer, messy, and his was bleached blonde. Lorna’s pregnancy was visible now; still a little while from delivery, but unmistakable. 

Marcos had to bite back a laugh, at the familiar unfamiliarity of it all, of the strangeness of seeing them again after so many months, outside the mansion where his ex-girlfriend and now Cartel-leader was blackmailing him from, like he’d seen Lorna so many years ago when she’d first convinced him to join the Mutant Underground. 

“Andy?” Lauren gasped out, her own Mutant-made umbrella faltering and Marcos feeling the moisture drip through onto his head.

The boy didn’t look too happy to see her. He looked grumpy, and fidgety, and awkward. “Can we just get this over with?” he asked Lorna sullenly, the opposite of her amused smirk and easy demeanor. 

“Took you long enough,” she said to Marcos, and then she cuffed Andy lightly on the shoulder. “I told you, kid, I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You can’t rush this kind of satisfaction.”

“Can we at least go inside?” he asked, and Marcos noticed him shivering, and the fact that his converse were soaked through. He wasn’t wearing a heavy enough jacket; Caitlin would never have let him go out like this. Underneath all the rebel ideology and anger, he was still just a kid, even if he had joined the Hellfire Club.

“Does someone wanna fill me in here?” Marcos asked, looking between them. Lauren was at a loss for words, gaping beside him, and he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. 

The interaction was not lost on Lorna, and though he used to be able to read her eyes so well, now he had to wonder what the flash meant. Did she think it was funny, that he’d taken to Lauren the way she’d seemingly taken to Andy? Was she bitter? Saddened? Wistful?

“I’m impatient,” she declared. “Walk with us.”

Carmen had called Lorna. How she’d gotten their contact, no one could guess; but she wanted Lorna to bring Andy to her, and Lorna had realized this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of her old nemesis, so she hadn’t even let Carmen finish the threat about Sentinel Services before replying, “Okay, we’ll be there.”

“Why would she want us both?” Andy groused, fixing Lauren with a moody glare. Lauren physically recoiled.

“My guess is she heard about what you two can do and wants it for herself,” Lorna replied, glancing at Marcos with an almost challenging look. “That sound right?”

“Yeah,” Marcos agreed, frustrated. He didn’t know how the hell Carmen would’ve found that out. He was sure he’d never given any indication of that power.

“But we’re not gonna let that happen,” Lauren broke in, putting on her most determined voice. She kept sneaking glances at her brother, and Marcos could practically see her heart breaking.

Andy shook his head. “Of course not.” he spat, though not at her, which was a slight improvement. “I’d rather _die_ than be controlled like that again.”

Lauren flinched.

The word “again” hung heavily in the air and Marcos wondered how much trauma Andy was hiding in that head of his, trauma over his initial meltdown and the years of bullying and trauma at being taken by Trask and watching Sonya die.

He was just a kid. Just a fifteen-year-old kid who’d seen too much death and pain and felt so damn angry and betrayed, especially when his family wouldn’t follow him where he thought he needed to go. 

Of course he was bitter. But that didn’t help Lauren one bit, who’d had just as much trauma, and it didn’t help the people he’d killed, either.

“So did you have a plan?” Marcos asked Lorna, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised by the answer, but he was anyway.

She shrugged. “Kill her,” she said simply. The makeshift umbrella bounced, oddly light-spirited above her head, and every so often, Andy would get hit with a sluice of water and grimace. 

“Can we...maybe...not...kill her?” Marcos asked, more out of obligation to morality than actual opposition to the world being purged of Carmen Guerra. The woman had ruined so many people’s lives, not just his. 

He thought of Elena and Roberto, running for their lives from Carmen’s interest. 

Lorna shrugged again, noncommittal. “We’ll see.” She didn’t really seem to be considering other options.

It was the most he could hope for. Lauren looked ready to protest, but he shook his head sharply at her, just once. 

Of the four of them, she probably had the most rigid moral code. But she didn’t understand the situation like he did; no amount of road trip storytelling could relay the horrible metamorphosis of Carmen Guerra from ornamental, bratty, sheltered cartel princess (who Marcos had loved) to the woman ordering the hits and running the show.

Lauren did not look happy, but she kept her mouth closed. 

“Then we’ll go in and stop her. Once and for all,” Marcos declared. Then, because he was technically capable of being a cautious man and because he’d hate himself forever if his family died from one of his misguided choices, he sent a quick text to John. 

_Location may be compromised. Nashville too. Prep for evac._

John didn’t reply. Marcos didn’t expect him to. He knew John would get the message.

“Andy, Lauren, stay back,” he suggested as they approached the walkway to the house. 

Andy glared at him, but before the kid could protest, Lorna shook her head. “The kid’s my partner. He watches my back. He comes with me. And I think they’re both old enough to make their own decisions.”

Lauren looked at him defiantly, as though daring him to try to sideline her the way her parents would. The way they’d want him to.

“Fine,” he groaned. “But if anything happens to you and your mother kills me, I want that on the conscience of everyone here.” He looked at Andy. “Either of you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lauren and Andy shot back at the same time, and then looked at each other. The ghost of a smile crossed Andy’s lips. 

_“Jinx,”_ Lauren mouthed, but he had already looked away.

Lorna wanted to rip the door off the hinges, but Marcos insisted on subtlety. If Carmen knew they were here and ready for a fight, she might call the Sentinels right away, and then everyone would be in trouble and probably caught.

She stared him dead in the eye as she picked the lock by manipulating the metal inside it, her face serious and challenging yet almost wistful, too.

He smiled in spite of himself, though it was a smile tinged with sadness. This was the woman he knew and loved, and yet she wasn’t, anymore. There was so much between them, both history and distance. 

She pushed the door open, and they all stepped in, glancing about to make sure no one was around to notice. Lorna left her makeshift umbrella on the doorstep, making sure to leave them all a way out.

The house was pitch dark, clouds blotting out any natural light that may have filtered in through the windows. Marcos could see the couch where he’d slept fitfully and was tempted to burn it, but that would draw undue attention. Instead, he let his palms glow softly to light their way, motioning the children to get behind him, and crept forward.

Carmen usually kept guards. He didn’t know where they were, but there was always at least one person there to watch over her.

As if summoned, a man rounded the corner. Before he could even shout, Lauren had a shield up around his head, closing in slowly. Marcos realized with a start she was suffocating him as he scrabbled at his neck, swooned, and dropped to the ground, unconscious. 

Andy offered her a small smiled. “That was dope.”

“Thanks.” She smiled back.

The next guard they encountered spotted Lauren first, somehow, because she wouldn’t stay back like Marcos told her to, and quick as lighting, the man drew his gun and fired. He had a silencer on it, thank god, and for once Carmen’s desire for her men not to bother her worked in their favor. 

Lorna stopped the bullet with a flick of her wrist, and Andy’s face contorted into the kind of protective rage Marcos hadn’t seen in months. With a grunt, he exploded the man’s gun, several pieces of debris lodging themself in the throat and eye of the guard. The poor sap fell to the ground with a gurgle. Lorna drove the bullet into his skull for good measure.

Lauren winced. “Gross. But thanks, I guess.” Marcos couldn’t help but agree. It’s not like he’d never graphically injured someone before, but it’d been a long time since he had to.

The back stairs were in view, and another two guards were coming down the stairs, complaining about something or other Carmen had said. Lorna’s hands twitched and before Marcos could protest, she’d slit their throats. They lay bleeding at the foot of the steps, but Lorna stepped over them with practiced ease, Andy not far behind her, also unperturbed. 

Lauren’s face fell with sudden realization, and Marcos figured his must mirror hers. 

When had all of this gotten so easy for the two that he used to think of as family?

They made it to Carmen’s upper sitting room, and there Marcos found Elijah, tied to a chair and half undressed, looking like a pitiful fool. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, struggling in his bondage. “Where’s Carmen?” 

He wanted to get up, but it looked like Carmen had given him the same treatment she gave all the uppity employees with their eyes on the wrong prize: sexual humiliation. Marcos had seen many a man tied to that chair, aroused, and left there for days, sometimes for their fellows to find, sometimes for business partners. Elijah was lucky he’d gotten to keep his pants on.

“Should I kill him?” Lorna asked, studying him closely. He looked a sorry sight, and not particularly dangerous. 

“No.” Marcos shook his head. There was nothing Elijah could do to them in that state. “Leave him be.”

He didn’t feel compelled to kill him, but he didn’t want to cut the guy loose either - even after this, the misguided man would still be loyal to Carmen, because they always were.

A sudden memory struck him, how he’d never felt jealous when Carmen flirted with her workers or other men or business associates, whether she meant it or not. He wondered if that had been a sign he should’ve picked up on, but then he pushed the thought away because now was really not the time for it.

He spotted a ball gag off to the side. Inelegant, but effective. He cringed as he picked it off the floor and tried to shove it into Elijah’s mouth, fastening it tightly so the man couldn’t cry out any more to alert Carmen to their presence. In the end, he came away with only one bite mark on his hand, and the skin was barely broken. 

Elijah looked at him with hate-filled eyes, but could do nothing more.

The made their way along the top floor, checking room by room for Carmen, but Marcos knew in his gut she’d be in her study.

Sure enough, she was there, sitting with her legs crossed in the leather chair, sipping a glass of whiskey. Her lips were bloody red and so were the room’s gauzy curtains that framed a cracked-open window, letting in the darkness and the cold; it was almost comical how well she matched her own decor. 

The woman had a color scheme, and she stuck to it.

“Marcos. Magnet Girl,” she greeted. Lorna chafed but held steady. “I see you’re here with what I asked for.”

Her phone lay on the top of her desk and Marcos noticed she did indeed have a number pulled up on it, ready to be dialed, labeled “Sentinel Services.” It could still be a bluff, but he nudged Lorna’s attention to the phone anyway and she seemed to understand, beginning to slowly, imperceptibly inch it out of reach.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you _both_ to come here,” she began, and Marcos realized this was the beginning of a movie villain monologue. She truly thought she had the upper hand in this situation. 

In a way, she did. But it was four superpowered mutants against one arrogant crime boss, and Marcos did like their odds more than usual. 

“You want the kids, you’ve heard of what they can do, et cetera, et cetera,” Lorna drawled, sounding disaffected and bored. Marcos highly doubted that was an act. 

Carmen pursed her lips. “Well, yes. I heard about the building that they disintegrated, and I thought that would be a useful tool for me to have.” She was clearly quite annoyed Lorna had stolen her opportunity to grandstand. Marcos bit back a smile. 

“And do the kids have any say in this?” Lorna asked skeptically. “Oh, right, I forgot. You’re used to having people around not cuz they like you, but because they fear you.”

Carmen didn’t take the bait. “Whatever works,” she shrugged. “Of course, the children will be rewarded handsomely for their troubles. And it’s not all that different from what they’ve already been doing; it’s all illegal contraband.”

Everyone tensed. “Don’t talk about us like that,” Lauren snapped. Carmen’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. 

“I can have Sentinel Services track down everyone you know and love, dear, with just one finger. Is that what you want? Mommy and Daddy and that little boyfriend of yours?” She stared Lauren down daringly. “Shut up, the adults are talking.”

Lauren wasn’t happy, but she was sufficiently cowed. She busied herself studying the wall fixtures while Andy flexed his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. The desk adornments began to shake, lamp rattling, and Carmen glanced at him, amused. 

“He has spirit.”

“Yeah, he does.” Lorna pulled the phone over towards the edge of the desk. “So are we gonna talk payment, or…?”

“Payment?” Carmen raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think you understand the situation here.”

“No, I think it’s _you_ who doesn’t understand.” Lorna held the phone hovering in the air next to her hand, and whipped her knives out of their sheath. “I need one single good reason not to kill you right now.”

Carmen looked...almost alarmed, for once in her life, staring at the knives hovering near her throat and sharpened to an invisible edge. She didn’t seem defeated, merely considering. 

“Lorna,” Marcos cautioned, feeling his stomach turn at the reality now facing him. Carmen dead in theory was one thing, but right before his eyes…

Elijah, somehow having worked his way free of his bonds, busted into the room, throwing open the doors with a clatter.

He gave some sort of indecipherable shout before leveling a gun at Lorna and firing four shots. Each crack shook Marcos to the core. 

Easily, Lorna deflected each bullet back at her attacker, directing two to his skull and two to his heart. She always had possessed a flare for the dramatic. Unfortunately, in her momentary distraction, one of her knives skittered off and knicked Marcos’ cheek; but worse, she dropped the phone, which Carmen lunged for and pressed the buttons on the screen.

Marcos heard a dial signal and swore. He hit the phone, still in Carmen’s perfectly manicured hands, with as much of a light beam as he could muster, taking grim satisfaction when it began to spark in her grip. She dropped it to the ground, hissing and swearing in Spanish, where the charred phone caught the plush rug on fire.

“Look what you’ve _done_!” she screeched, pointing at the flaming rug and at Elijah’s still warm corpse.

Without even blinking, before he could say a damn thing, Lorna flicked her wrist again and sent the knives sailing through the air and into Carmen’s throat. A spray of blood gushed out, spattering Marcos in the crossfire, and he felt like he might throw up as the hot, sticky substance slid down his neck. Lauren’s eyes mirrored his emotions.

Carmen fell to the ground, lifeless, her mouth open in a perfect little gasp, and the flames caught on her dress. 

“C’mon. Time to go.” Lorna yanked Marcos by the hand out of the room, Andy dragging Lauren with him. Of course, death didn’t phase them the way it did him. They’d seen it before, caused it before. It was a normal part of their life.

“Burn shit. Cover our tracks,” Lorna suggested when they were a safe distance away from the study. “And then we should get the hell out of here.”

Numbly, he concentrated some light beams on walls, ceilings, and curtains, trying not to breathe in the acrid scent of burning opulence. He felt almost like he was floating as he raced down the stairs and out the door, simply trusting that Lauren was with him.

He set the base of the house on fire, just for good measure, and then they stumbled down to where they had parked their cars.

The rain had stopped. It was good, in a way, because they could stand outside in the damp grass without getting soaked from above, and because no heavenly moisture would douse the flames licking their way up Carmen’s mansion. 

Marcos felt an odd mixture of relief and guilt that he would need to grapple with at a later date. There were other feelings in there too: elation, sadness, pride, disgust. There was so much to unpack, and before everything had changed, he would’ve gone home with Lorna and laid in bed discussing it with her for hours before they quieted down with kisses and forgot everything for awhile.

He knew that wouldn’t be happening tonight.

Lorna looked at him sadly, and he wondered if she’d been thinking the same thoughts. “Esme’s been keeping an eye on you.” He’d suspected as much, but it was another thing for Lorna to confirm it. “She thinks you’re going to come after me, try to win me back.”

Marcos offered her a crooked smile. “I mean, she was right.” He tried to suppress the tumult of emotions. “John’s been trying to track you.”

“I suppose it’d be pointless to tell you to stop?”

“Yeah.” He grinned sheepishly. No matter how in love he was with the Struckers, he wasn’t ever going to be over Lorna. She was a part of him, even more than they were. She was the woman who’d saved him from the Cartel, over and over again, given him the strength to choose what was right for him. Shown him that you could love being a mutant. She was the mother of his child.

And whether he was in love with her or not, he would never give up on her. “You should come home.”

“It’s not my home anymore.” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t be with you, Marcos,” she forced out, like she’d been practicing those words in front of a mirror every day since she’d been gone. “Not now. I could before, and maybe someday I can again, but not now. And you don’t have to wait for me.”

“I...What do you mean?”

“I just want you to be happy.” Her voice wavered only slightly, the barest sign of weakness Lorna Dane would be willing to show. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. And yeah, seeing you with Carmen that time did drive me crazy with jealousy, but that’s cuz you know she’s not good for you. Cuz she’s a demon on earth.”

“ _Was_ a demon on earth,” Marcos corrected, trying for humor. Failing as he remembered the feeling of her blood on his skin. He wiped at his neck.

Lorna smiled, almost back to her old self. “I’ve heard you kind of have a thing with the Struckers. I mean, I saw this coming from like, Day One, but things are different now. ”

Andy and Marcos choked at the same time. “How did you hear that?” Marcos demanded. Andy just glared at him. 

Instead of answering, she just kind of smiled mysteriously. “I think it’s fair, ya know? I took their son, they took my boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Andy protested, clearly annoyed at the insinuation he hadn’t chosen his path of his own free will, not to mention the reveal that his parents still had an active love life and it included another guy who Andy didn’t really seem to like anyway. 

Marcos, for his part, did not have any idea what to say to that. 

“Told you,” Lauren mumbled. “Literally everyone knows except you guys.”

_And Andy,_ Marcos corrected sullenly, though he didn’t think the comment would be well-received by either teenager.

“Maybe someday, when all of this is over, there’ll be room for me too.” Lorna shrugged. “Who knows.”

He didn’t know why he chose that moment, but he reached out and caught her wrist and yanked her into a kiss. It was long, and slow, and sad, and the-same-but-different the way everything else had been that night. But her lips were just as he remembered, and it brought him comfort. 

They broke apart. Andy had awkwardly started to dig a hole in the wet dirt with his Converse, eyes glued to the ground, while Lauren stared at him with a million things on her tongue that she could never say. 

“How’s the baby?” Marcos asked. 

“Baby’s fine,” Lorna replied, not bothering to elaborate. They stared at each other in a silence similar to Lauren and Andy’s, and again, Marcos felt the depth of everything between them.

“We’re moving headquarters,” Lorna said, unprompted. “Just so you know.” 

He wasn’t sure why she’d told him, but he was grateful she had. He dropped her wrist as she stepped back, fixing him with that same sad smile that he saw reflected in the moon every night thinking of her.

“Us too, probably.” He forced a smile. “See you in a new city.”

She shook her head, laughing in spite of herself. “You’re relentless.” But then, so was she.

He bit back his response, which was that it was why she always loved him. He thought if she heard that, she might break. 

He knew if he said that, he would break.

“Your parents miss you,” he told Andy instead. Andy shrugged. 

“They know where to find me,” he replied, even though it wasn’t true at all, and Marcos was pretty sure all the nonchalance was feigned.

“Drive safe,” Lorna said, and then the two of them were back in her car and driving off. 

He sagged into Lauren, hissing in exhausted pain. It had been too much. Far too much. And yet also, he thought as he watched Lorna’s car get smaller and smaller, it hadn’t been quite enough.

“I’ll drive,” Lauren suggested, helping him over to the passenger’s side. “You’re in no shape to get us back to the hideout.” She looked at him with such intense concern, and it felt wrong, because she was the little one and he should be protecting _her_ , but all he could do was nod and slump into the seat.

The most terrifying person in his life was no longer on the planet, and the only price he’d had to pay was losing the mother of his child all over again. Some would consider that a bargain, but all Marcos could think about was how filthy his skin was, his soul was, covered in dirt and ash and blood.

He spent the first twenty minutes of the ride quietly crying, overwhelmed and exhausted tears leaking from his eyes. Lauren hummed some melody to a song he half-knew - that Spanish song he’d heard on the radio weeks ago, when all of this had arguably started. 

He almost laughed. He would’ve, if he’d had the energy.

“Sleep,” Lauren murmured, clutching his hand after she finished pulling onto the highway. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

It wasn’t even a choice to follow her instructions. Within minutes, he was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this chapter made it to 4k words, but it did, and honestly I think it's worth it. What an epic showdown. Plus that bittersweet emotion at the end, the conversations they needed to have. It's almost something like closure.   
> When I set out to write this fic, I really didn't intend for Marcos to experience so much angst. But. The fic wound itself this way, and I'm honestly glad it did. I love this fic with all my heart.  
> Thank you to my loyal fans for your continuing support. Your words soothe my soul and bring me joy.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resolution we've been waiting for. Friendship and romance abound.

Lauren had to shake Marcos awake when they got back to the Underground. He was dimly aware she’d been calling his name, but it felt distant. He tried to make her life easier by moving as quick as he could, but it felt as though every move was weighed down by boulders and she had to hold onto him just so Marcos could stay standing. 

It was only twenty feet from the car to the door, but it felt like crossing a goddamn desert. Lauren was murmuring something reassuring, but Marcos didn’t think it was for him - or if it was, she wasn’t being loud enough to know.

When they finally got inside, he wanted to just go to bed. But he knew he couldn’t, because there was work to be done - god, he never got to rest - and besides, the sight that greeted him was two angry parents who would definitely be his reckoning.

Caitlin all but ripped Lauren out of Marcos’ grip, even though Marcos had been leaning on her wearily for support. The look Caitlin gave Marcos now was pure, untempered fury, though he thought maybe he saw some concern for himself in there, too. She was hugging Lauren with both arms, and over the top of her head, she began yelling at Marcos. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Caitlin demanded, staring into his soul. Reed had a steadying hand on her shoulder, but it seemed more like it was holding her back than keeping her upright. “Taking our daughter like that, stealing off in the middle of the night?” He wondered absently if the “our” was inclusive. He certainly felt protective enough of Lauren. 

He would never have let anything happen to her.

“You didn’t give us _any_ warning, you didn’t leave a _note_ , what if something had happened and we didn’t know where you were and you had _died_?” Caitlin’s eyes were filling with frustrated tears. Reed squeezed her shoulder. “God, you were so _reckless_!”

He deserved their rage, he knew he did. He was perfectly willing to stand there and let it all wash over him; he was even prepared for Caitlin to haul off and hit him (but not Reed, who just kept looking at him with sad, sad eyes), and he figured he deserved that too. 

What he was not prepared for was Reed to grab his hand and pull him into a bear hug, and in the weariest of voices, declare, “We were so worried about you.”

He still felt off. Dirty. Not quite right. Almost like he was floating a couple inches off the ground, but not in a good way. 

“Mom,” Lauren protested, urgently trying to pull away. “Mom, Dad, he needs help. Something is wrong.”

Caitlin appraised him. “He looks like he’s in shock,” she suggested, and it seemed rather obvious. Of course he was in shock. The blood of the girl he’d loved for more than five years was on his skin. Was on his hands.

“ _Help him_ ,” Lauren begged her, and Reed seemed to hold him tighter as he sagged. 

“My god, you’re covered in blood!” Reed held him up a little straighter. “Marcos, man, is it yours?” 

He just shook his head numbly.

Caitlin pursed her lips. “Reed, let me handle this. You take care of Lauren, she’s got blood on her too.” She dusted her palms on her jeans after releasing her daughter and slung Marcos’ arm over her shoulder, taking his weight easily. She was a strong woman, only a few inches shorter than him and absolutely keeping him from crumbling in more ways than one. 

She led him into their bathroom - one of three in the building, shared between the Struckers, Clarice, John, and Marcos. It hadn’t been the closest one, but he was just grateful for the familiarity of the tight grey walls and the worn beige rug and the six toothbrushes sitting in a cup.

“Sit,” she demanded, but it’s not like he could disagree, because she was shifting his weight and he was almost falling onto the lid of the toilet.

“You said it’s not yours?” she asked. He didn’t know what she meant. “The blood,” she added, probably noting the blank stare, and he shook his head again. “Okay. Sit tight, sweetie.”

She pulled his shirt off over his head, but there was nothing charged in the moment. There was nothing at all. Something was still profoundly wrong to Marcos, and even though all the events and the pieces were lined up in his head, he didn’t know how to fix it. All he could do was lean into her soft hands as she cleaned him up, scrubbing away with a washcloth and warm water.

“There’s a set of little dots in a half circle on your hand,” Caitlin informed him, studying it. She held it so carefully, so gently. “Did someone...bite you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It...It’s been a hell of a night, Cait.” They were the first words he’d managed since getting home, and he thought he might start crying again at them.

“He speaks,” she offered wryly, rubbing peroxide over the cuts. 

“Did John get everyone out okay?”

She bandaged his hand and clicked her tongue. “Yeah. He got your text and started evacuation right away,” she reassured him, stroking his hair. “Anyone that could be resettled started the resettlement process, and the rest we sent on to the way-station in Huntsville.”

It might not be safe there, either, but Marcos didn’t want to think about that.

“God, Marcos, we were so _worried_ ,” Caitlin whispered, clutching him to her chest suddenly. “I mean, we didn’t even know you had left until you texted John - we just thought you were hanging out with Lauren somewhere, maybe training -” She took a deep breath. “Where did you go? And why didn’t you take me with you? You know I can shoot a gun - that’s as good as any power.”

The thought had never even occurred to him. “I couldn’t,” he replied weakly. He couldn’t risk her life like that. 

“But you could take my daughter? My eighteen year old girl?” She was annoyed again, but she hadn’t stopped hugging him, and he appreciated that. “How is she better suited to a mission than I am?”

“I had to,” he told her, begging her to understand, knowing she couldn’t. “I had no choice, or else I would’ve left her here too.”

“And then what if you had died, and left me all alone? Left _us_ all alone.” She squeezed him tighter. “You’re my _best friend_ , Marcos. I couldn’t - I couldn’t - and Reed needs you too.”

He was crying again. When she said she needed him, Reed needed him, something inside him shifted and he just couldn’t keep it together anymore. “I’m sorry,” he forced out. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll explain everything - I just - I need to talk to John.” 

It was different now, like he’d fallen and crashed back down to earth, down into his body. The weight of everything that had gone down hit him, and he struggled to get himself back under control to little avail.

She wiped at his eyes gently. “Not before I patch up that cut on your face,” Caitlin replied, peeling open a bandaid and laying it gingerly across the cut on his cheek. The cut that Lorna’s knife had put on him, that would heal and scar and last forever. 

Just one more thing to remember her by.

Caitlin smoothed her hands across his cheeks, across the bandaid, along his jawline. She was making soothing noises, letting him get out what he needed to, and she made no move to leave just yet. It made him incredibly grateful. 

After he’d quieted down a little bit, down to the last sniffles and manly hiccups, Caitlin knelt down and pulled him into a real hug. “I am so glad you’re home safe,” she said, resting her forehead on his, close enough to kiss. He could feel her breath tickle his lips - all he’d have to do was lean forward. 

But he couldn’t, and then the moment passed, and she was standing up again. “I’ll go get John. You can tell him what he needs to know. And then I expect to hear the whole story, and you better have a damn good reason for taking my girl without even a text.” 

She turned on her heel, and with some energy he didn’t know he had, Marcos reached out to grab her wrist. “Cait,” he began when she turned back to look at him quizzically. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course,” she replied. “It’s what we do for our family.”

He was left staring after her with warmth in his chest. She’d called him family. It wasn’t the first time, but it felt...different, after everything they’d been through recently. He thought of Reed, crying in the car on the way back from Savannah. He thought of sleeping curled up with the both of them. He thought of buying them gifts, the ring for Reed. He thought of Lauren, driving him home, her face illuminated by the glow of the burning house.

Family. 

John entered the bathroom not too long after, sitting down on the floor and tilting his head back tiredly into the wall behind him. He wrapped his arms around his knees and didn’t say anything, just sat there looking like the world’s beefiest emo child.

“Long day?” Marcos joked weakly, making an effort because he knew it was his fault, and because John was his oldest friend and he loved him. The guy could use a joke. 

John grimaced ruefully. “Yeah.” He groaned. “How did we get here, man?”

“Carmen Guerra.” The name felt wrong on his lips, but he had to admit the truth.

John shook his head. “Nah, man. I knew that part. You think I’m a dumbass? When you went back to her the first time all those months ago, I knew something like this was gonna happen. I mean, why else would you sneak out at odd hours and take phone calls that left you inexplicably pissed?” He groaned, rolling his shoulders, and Marcos figured he could probably use a year-long holiday and quite a few spa treatments. “I meant emptying out the whole building again, for the second time in months, and relocating to God knows where.”

“Let’s go North,” Marcos suggested, rather than acknowledge the fact apparently he was nowhere near as stealthy as he thought and John knew the whole time. “Track Lorna. We can still help people on the move, ya know?”

John smiled wryly. “I’ve always wondered what snow looks like.”

“Shit, man, me too,” Marcos replied, and then they were laughing like nothing was wrong and like it was the old days, when Marcos had just joined the Underground and there weren’t quite so many fires to put out all the time.

“So what happened tonight, exactly?” John asked after another stretch of silence. “I’m a tracker, not a psychic.”

“Well, that’s a loaded question,” Marcos replied, wincing, and then haltingly relayed the events of the night. He choked up again when he came to the part about Carmen’s demise, forcing his eyes to remain open even though it didn’t quite stop the images from replaying in his mind. 

John whistled. “Marcos, man, you should have _told_ us all of this was going down. We could’ve helped.”

“How?” Marcos challenged, even though he knew John was right. 

John barked out a short laugh, disbelieving, and shook his head. “Fuck, man, I don’t know right this second, but I’m sure we could’ve come up with something a few months ago.”

“Fair,” Marcos conceded, and rolled his shoulders. “God, everything hurts.”

“It’s the stress.” John mimicked the motion, wincing again. “Me too.”

“Someday, when this is all over, we’re going to California and we’re staying there for like a month,” Marcos replied. “Sun, sand, ocean, and supporting local mutant businesses.”

John smiled. “We could all use a holiday.” With a tired groan, he levied himself off the ground. “You good to go? We ought to get a move on, though if Sentinels were coming, they’d probably be here by now.”

Marcos shrugged, using the sink to support his weight. “I’ll survive.”

“Caitlin said you looked dead on your feet when you came in,” John pointed out doubtfully. But it didn’t really matter if Marcos was ready - they had to move regardless. 

That’s just the way it was.

John looked him in the eye, and softly, he said, “Marcos, you’re my brother. You know you can talk to me about anything, any time.”

“Yeah.” Marcos felt his voice crack and wondered if he’d cry again. He wasn’t much of a crier, but he felt like tonight had extenuating circumstances. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll take Clarice and the last of the intel; we’ll head north to the station in Charlotte. When you’re ready, you and the Struckers can leave and meet us there. The Sentinels hopefully still think we’re dead so…” John raked a finger through his hair. “We’ll expect you in no more than six hours; if we don’t hear anything but you’re not there, we’ll go looking. And please, Marcos, _text us_ if something goes wrong.” he stretched, readying himself for a long drive. “You think we should burn the place down?” he mused. “You know, to cover evidence.”

Flames flickered in Marcos’ eyes and Carmen’s mansion was burning. He shook his head sharply. “We’re not leaving anything behind. Besides, forest fires.”

“Fair point. I’ll do another sweep.” He nodded, getting ready to leave. “Oh, and Clarice told me to tell you she was never worried about you. She knew ‘you’d kick everyone’s ass’ - her words. She wanted to come see you, but one of us had to finish organizing the evac, and she told me to come see you.”

Marcos grinned. “Tell her I appreciate her faith in me.” At least someone believed in him.

“Good luck with the Struckers,” John told him on the way out. “I wouldn’t be too worried, but you did kidnap their daughter for awhile…” He gave Marcos one last lopsided grin, the kind too few and far between these days, before disappearing from sight.

Of course, John was attempting some humor. But if the Struckers hated him now, it would be for good reason, but Marcos didn’t think he’d be able to survive it.

He made his way out of the bathroom and over to his bedroom, where all of his meager belongings, including the blankets off his bed, had been neatly folded and pressed into his suitcase. He pulled a clean t-shirt off the top of the stack and pulled it on. The gesture saved him time, and he wondered who had taken care of it for him.

The room hadn’t been his for all that long, but it still felt painful to leave it. Leaving their old home was hard enough; now, just as he was getting adjusted to their new life, he had to leave it all over again. And not just the Underground, but Ramona and her aunt, and Georgia itself.

He’d told Lauren he’d only lived in Georgia as long as he’d been with the Underground, but that wasn’t actually true. It was just that Georgia had only started to feel like home when he’d joined Lorna and John. 

And now he had to leave.

One extra minute couldn’t hurt. He lay down on the mattress, now stripped bare of sheets, and awkwardly kicked the go-bag down to the end of the bed. He closed his eyes. 

“Knock knock,” Caitlin said, in that weirdly endearing way she did instead of actually knocking on the door. “Can I come in?” 

A silly question, really. “Always.” Marcos opened his eyes and swung himself up into a seated position. “Listen, Cait, I’m really sorry -”

Before he could process what was happening, her hands were on his chin and her lips were on his and _oh god she was kissing him_.

It was everything he’d ever dreamed - her lips were soft, but she kissed roughly, as if she’d given up on waiting and was finally taking what she wanted. 

“Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again,” she demanded. “Promise me.” 

She stared at him expectantly, and he was dazed, but he knew he had to say something. “I - I promise.” 

“Good.” She nodded at the bag. “I packed your things for you while we were waiting for you to get back. Make sure I didn’t miss anything, and then meet us in the car.” And then she marched out of the room without another word. 

Marcos thought he might pass out.

What was he supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to cope? Marcos knew for a damn fact that Caitlin would never do anything to hurt Reed - god, those two were the absolute _ideal_ of commitment - so that had to mean he was fine with it, right? But was Reed interested too, or was he just letting his wife do as she pleased?

He grabbed his bag and rocketed off the bed. He knew she hadn’t left anything behind; Caitlin Strucker was too thorough for that, and the mother of two teenagers to boot. 

Lauren was by the door, smirking, waiting with her two flustered parents. “I’ll drive,” she insisted, holding up the keys. “You three sort your shit out, and pretend I’m not there.”

“Language, young lady,” Reed admonished, but without any real bite. He looked nervous, jittery, and Marcos suddenly wondered if the man _wasn’t_ okay with it. Or maybe it was about the move: after all, the world didn’t revolve around Marcos Diaz. 

Lauren rolled her eyes and walked out the door, without checking to see if they were following.

The only car left for them to take was an old beat-up minivan with South Carolina plates. It wasn’t the kind of car that’d turn heads on a highway, which was really their specialty.

The three adults crawled into the back seat while Lauren took the driver’s seat in an odd role-reversal that Caitlin did not quite seem to enjoy. She was seated between Marcos and Reed, and the three of them were a little bit squeezed together, but no one seemed to want to move.

Lauren put on a radio station - some sort of smooth jazz, because the teenager had a weird concept of mood music, it seemed - and stared resolutely at the road.

They drove for a little while in silence, Caitlin clutching her knees anxiously, Reed with an arm around her shoulder pointedly avoiding touching Marcos, Marcos trying to give them both a little space. He couldn’t shake the feeling of intrusion on their marriage. 

“So what happened tonight?” Caitlin asked, and he startled. Did she mean the kiss? “Where did you go with Lauren?”

Oh. Of course not. 

“I, uh…” he struggled to find the words. “I think it’s best to start at the beginning.”

“Which is when?” Reed asked skeptically. 

“When I was thirteen years old.”

He told them the story he told Lauren, the story he felt like he kept telling over and over again, going as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to go too into details, not after everything tonight, but he just gave them enough. He kept looking over at them, terrified, waiting to see the disapproval - but it wasn’t there, shockingly. 

“I hate to say it,” Reed began slowly when he finished, looking unsure of how to progress. “But it seems like...maybe she’s not the kind of person we should mourn.”

“She hurt you,” Caitlin sniffed. “I’m not too worried about it.”

“You don’t think of me any differently?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” Caitlin confessed. “But not in a bad way.”

They lapsed into silence, but the air was heavily charged. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, and a thousand things he wanted them to say. He glanced at Lauren.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “You kissed me,” he blurted out, almost accusatory, staring at Caitlin.

“Was it not okay?” she asked, biting her lip. “I mean, I thought - we thought - Lauren said you -”

“Hey, leave me out of this,” Lauren interjected. “I’m just the driver here.”

“You said you weren’t listening, smartass,” Marcos called back at her, and he caught her smirk in the rearview mirror. “Concentrate on the roads.”

“Are you upset?” Caitlin asked quietly, eyes searching his face. 

He looked past her, past Reed, and started out the window, watching the greenery go by. It steadied him. 

“Only if you didn’t mean it,” he said finally, glancing back at her.

She looked shocked. “Of course I meant it! Marcos, we’ve been in love with you for months, and I don’t think I’ve exactly been _subtle_.”

‘We.’ She said ‘we’ were in love with him.

He swallowed thickly. “You and Reed, both?”

Reed looked about ready to melt into the seat. “Yes,” he confessed, and Caitlin reached out to squeeze his hand. 

“Oh.” 

They sat silently for another couple minutes. 

“Now’s the time you tell them you love them too,” Lauren commented. 

“Shut up,” Marcos shot back, but it held no real energy.

“He’ll say it if he means it, honey,” Caitlin corrected in that ‘mom’ way. “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t.”

“I do.” It was no more than a whisper. “I love you both. I just - I never thought -” He swallowed again. “I mean, you’re married.”

Reed and Caitlin looked at each other. “Have you ever heard of - there’s this thing some couples do, the ‘exception’ game.” Caitlin was doing most of the talking, because Reed still looked highly unsettled and almost incapable of speech. “Most of the time it’s celebrities and those sorts of people, you know, the ones where it’d never happen, but you say you wouldn’t be mad if your spouse slept with them. Only...for us it’s always been different, because we don’t mind a romance, if we’re still together, and it wasn’t always celebrities.”

“Huh.” Marcos was starting to see where this was going, but he didn’t quite get how all the pieces lined up.

“And then Reed - a few months ago - one day he asked if _you_ could be his exception, not that he thought it would ever happen, and then I said I felt the same way and we realized - you know, maybe.” She looked at him hopefully. “Maybe...you’d want some part of this.”

“I thought I’d ruined everything,” Reed said finally. “At the motel, in Savannah - you - you looked so horrified. You just...ran away.” He looked betrayed, still, as if he’d been thinking about it ever since.

“Because I had a hard-on over the husband of one of my best friends - who is also the woman I’m in love with!” Marcos threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know how to cope with those feelings!”

“I don’t think any of us did,” Caitlin replied, gently grabbing his arm and tugging it down and into her lap.

“Listen, I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Marcos looked meaningfully at Reed, and offered him the hand Caitlin wasn’t holding. “Forgive me?”

“Of course.” Reed smiled, filled with relief. “And I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

“Now _kiss_ ,” Lauren whispered loudly.

“You are awful at remaining uninvolved,” Marcos laughed, but he followed her advice and kissed Reed. 

It wasn’t like kissing Caitlin. He was still shy, in spite of the affirmation Marcos was every bit as interested in him as Reed was Caitlin, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Plus, Caitlin was squashed between them, biting back a laugh, and she quickly pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks.

This was bliss. Marcos wondered how a night that had started out so awful could end so well. 

“Okay, the kiss has gone on long enough, I can’t see out the back window,” Lauren interrupted, and the two men broke apart with a laugh. “Thanks. I mean, I do love a good car romance and all, but safety first.”

They all laughed. Somehow, Lauren’s running commentary was breaking through any awkwardness they might feel, rather than exacerbating it. It’s like she knew exactly what to say to keep the moments light, and she was staying silent when she needed to. 

They were a family. Not just felt like one, but really, truly _were_ one.

Somehow, they rearranged themselves into a much more snuggly pattern, with limbs entangling and elbows accidentally jabbing and a lot of quiet “oof”s and “ow”s and a lot of giggles. It wasn’t easy, but it was amazing, and Marcos chose to take that as a sign.

“So...what does this mean, exactly?” Marcos finally asked. One hand was in Reed’s, arm slung over Caitlin’s shoulder, and the other hand was being held tightly by Caitlin in her lap. “How do we...do this?”

Caitlin shrugged. “We’re in the middle of a revolution,” she replied. “I think we can navigate a three-person romance, even if none of us have ever done it before. We have each other.”

“And a millennial daughter with a ton of knowledge from the internet,” Lauren piped up teasingly. “Don’t forget about me.”

“We could never,” Reed and Marcos said at the same time, then collapsed into laughter again.

“Where do you think we’ll end up?” Marcos asked, thinking ahead to the end of the drive - and even beyond that. 

“Somewhere together,” Reed said with finality. “It’s us three together, from now on. We’re a unit.”

A flash of green hair crossed his mind, and he didn’t want to, but he had to ask. “And Lorna?”

The couple exchanged a glance. Clearly, this had come up before. “If you want to be with her, too, at some point...after all this, then we wouldn’t have a problem with it. And we’d help raise the baby, and everything.” Caitlin was almost babbling, nervous, a little bit of a blushing mess. “Just one big blended family.”

Reed grinned in spite of her awkwardness. “My wife might have a bit of a thing for your girl,” he teased, somehow hitting Caitlin and Marcos at the same time.

Caitlin practically squealed and hid her face in her hands. “I thought we weren’t going to bring that up! It’s not relevant!”

“Polyamory requires open and honest communication,” Marcos replied, sharing Reed’s shit-eating grin. “That’s honestly kind of adorable. What about you, Reed?”

Reed tilted his head. “I might. Jury’s still out.” He winked. “Get it? Lawyer joke?”

Caitlin, Marcos, and Lauren collectively groaned. “That wasn’t funny, dad,” Lauren informed him. “You should go back to being cute.”

They lapsed into another comfortable silence. Marcos glanced at them sidelong. “Can I…can I watch you two kiss?” he asked, still a little shy. 

Caitlin beamed. “Absolutely,” she replied, and then she pulled Reed into a deep, dramatic kiss that even set Marcos’ head spinning.

“Moooooooom!” Lauren shrieked. “Not while I’m driving!” She was practically white-knuckling the steering wheel and her cheeks were bright red. 

The Struckers pulled apart, laughing. “We have to see you and Wes,” Caitlin shot back. “You can cope.” 

Marcos laughed. 

Somehow, after everything leading to this point, he’d come out okay. His life wasn’t perfect - god only knew where Lorna and the baby and Andy were now, and they were all still fugitives currently fleeing across state lines, and he had just watched his ex and cartel boss die, which would take a lot of therapy and coping would take awhile - but he had all he could ask for in this minute. 

He leaned over Caitlin to give Reed a kiss, then pecked the top of her head.

This? This was definitely something he could adjust to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got it posted halfway through the premiere. Sorry, everyone, I did my best.  
> This was amazing to write, and all of your feedback has been amazing. It's really made this whole experience worth it.  
> I honestly can't believe it's over, and I might cry. I just...I love these characters, and I love this fic, and I love you all.  
> Hopefully, this will be the first of many fics. To those of you who said I've inspired you, or that you're gonna write a fic like mine, I cannot wait to see what you'll do. And to everyone who's been here for the ride...thank you. From the bottom of my heart.


End file.
